The Quartering
by cslev
Summary: A love story set in New England during Revolutionary War times, mildly reminiscent of "The Patriot" but using my own original characters. WARNING: some angst and war elements.
1. Chapter 1 The Deserter

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_**THE QUARTERING **_

_**Chapter 1 The Deserter**__ - November, 1780 The Berkshires, Commonwealth of Massachusetts_

Ceara Connolly closed the door behind her and descended the stairs without making a sound. Thankfully free of cumbersome hems and petticoats that only got soiled and weighed her down, she crossed the street with wide strides, passing her neighbors' homes where they lay quietly tucked in their beds. The side street she chose skirted the back of the common area and was an easy way to the path. Glancing up at the treetops, she noted their stillness after a night of howling winds. Now, an unearthly silence surrounded her in the final hour before dawn, as if the earth held its breath until the sun should arise. Far overhead a few brighter stars still shown in the heavens, challenged not only by the approaching dawn but by the bank of leaden clouds moving slowly but threateningly eastward. Pulling her brother's jacket closer, she accepted the fact that snowfall was imminent, probably by midday at the latest. But the cold was not the only reason she shivered, quickening her pace along the deserted path.

Within minutes she approached the edge of the dark, silent forest, shivering and shrugging her head down into the scarf. In her earlier years she had loved running through there with Jamie, hiking up to the ridge to see the valley spread out below them. They would spend the day together there, imaginations and dreams free to soar. Their adventures took them to hunt for dens and tiny pools of life, but she was no longer a child. Neither was Jamie, who was stationed further west at Fort Stanwix, as were most of his friends, leaving her with no one to indulge her boyish pursuits.

Now, turning her attention to the distant point where the path met the road, fear swooped up and over her like a bird of prey as she studied the wood in apprehension. Mocking and taunting whispers assaulted her mind, telling her she had no sense, walking alone in the darkness. Someone could be watching or waiting for someone just like her to come along…

It was true that walking to work at this hour was not her most sensible course of action, but waiting for the supply wagon would have delayed her shift even more. And she couldn't ask Betsy to come along, not on her free day. As she pictured her friend's contented smile as she lay sleeping in her featherbed, cocooned in warmth, Ceara could never have denied her the luxury. Besides, it was her turn to work today, despite the fact they had only two patients in Betsy's ward. Rules were rules, she realized, thinking the one that stipulated one trained staff person be present to keep the clinic open was particularly absurd. Patients or no patients, someone had to be there.

With a shiver of a shrug she fixed her gaze on the road ahead, intending to pass safely there at her earliest opportunity. Still, she couldn't help glancing behind to confirm she was alone, despite the feeling that she was not. Hugging her bag closer, she reminded herself that the route to the infirmary was safe enough, now that a relative peace prevailed over the county. No, the only living thing that might be watching her would be a deer or coyote, no doubt preferring to avoid her as much as she would them. The bears, thankfully, were already sleeping in hibernation.

As the path edged closer to the trees, she shuffled loudly through the mounds of dried leaves with purpose. The dusky odor of mold and rotted vegetation made her sneeze, so she blessed herself and sped up over the partially frozen ground of late November. The sky was streaked with pale plumes of light, indicating the approach of sunrise. With one ear tuned to the sound of the supply wagon, she told herself he would be coming along soon enough. Taking a deep breath of cold air into her lungs, she marched onward up the path.

_**Staggering against the wall **_of what smelled like pine, Aaron reached out for support, feeling his hand slice off a chunk of bark in the effort. Looking dazedly down to the place where it fell to the distant earth, he wound an arm around the unyielding trunk and clung to it, panting and trying to clear his vision. Another spasm of shivering caused pain to stab at his side, making him groan and grip his middle. Lowering his head against the dizziness and nausea circling within him, he waited until it faded again, evaluating his position. He had already faced the obvious fact that his survival was at best doubtful, so he prayed for mercy to at least deliver his message in time. Then, shoving away from the tree he moved on, making a mental note that if somehow he did succeed he would be sure to point out to his superiors their sad lack of foresight should anything happen to him and interrupt its delivery. But he already knew their answer: people in his position were few, particularly in this part of the colonies, and one had to take the utmost care to enlist anyone new. Unfortunately his past successes had given them no reason to consider an alternate, nor even a replacement. He laughed despite his pain, seeing the irony of his situation. Whatever might happen to him after the message was delivered was of secondary importance. And after everything he'd suffered, he had to admit that he truly no longer cared.

If only he had not come upon his men by surprise, interrupting their last foul attempt to make their mark on the hated colonists before deserting north. He'd been suspicious of their plans and had watched them carefully over the past fortnight, and only hours before they'd discovered him. What troubled him was why they hadn't just deserted and gotten it over with. As he continued on his way under the dense cover of the wood, he clutched his side, keeping an eye on the road in hopes of passing on his message.

Yet he kept seeing the girl, cursing their choice of an innocent upon whom to vent their anger and frustration. The details were foggier now, but he could never forget her face, so young and wide eyes, then twisted with terror and revulsion. They were going to rape her: he'd known it, and she'd known it. Though she had fought back, her chances had been slim even when he was able to intervene. God only knew what else they might have done to her in their inebriated state, murder coming foremost to his mind. Interrupting them had been necessary if not thrilling, for it had been a very long time since he had felt good about his actions. They might have injured him and gotten away, but so did she.

He looked toward the road again, trying to focus his eyes in the darkness. As he did he saw some movement and he ducked further back behind a tree trunk. Yet his trained eye caught someone moving along the edge of the forest not far ahead, also avoiding the road. Narrowing his eyes, he followed as best he could, aware of the fever burning within him and toying with his perception.

Surely it was an unusual time to be out for a walk, he mused, unless the boy worked at one of the nearby mills. Gritting his teeth he forced himself to move onto the path, deciding the boy was all he had to pass on his message. Judging by his size and the energy in his steps, he wondered if perhaps he was running away. The telltale bag flopping at his side indicated so, but he hoped it was not to join the fighting. If so he might be able to convince the lad to stay home, but he had to focus upon his primary objective: how to get his attention without causing alarm. As he stumbled after the lad he pictured himself more comic than threatening and felt like laughing at himself; it was better than raging and crying.

_**Ceara's heart began to pound**_ as the feeling grew stronger. Her efforts to convince herself that she was imagining it were failing. Something was in the woods, watching her, following her. She could feel it, and fears centering around the recent attack by a mountain lion over in the next town loomed over her. Still, she told herself, there was nothing she could do and it was best to show no fear. She had only a few more minutes before regaining the road and straightening to her fullest height and lengthening her stride she set her face to that distant point. Gripping her bag tighter she kept her eyes ahead, not seeing the gnarled tree root that was in her path. When her boot caught she gasped and stumbled, startling a pair of doves from their nest in the bushes. Skipping until she gained her balance, she watched them fly off toward the stone wall, still feeling the eerie weight of a pair of eyes.

_**Gathering his last bit of strength, Aaron cut toward the path**_, his progress unbelievably slow. His plan was to intercept the lad a few meters distant, revealing himself at the juncture of the slight rise where the path met the road. It was his only hope, yet a greater challenge than he had anticipated. He was losing more blood: he could feel it pooling inside his boot beneath the hole in the sole of his sock, yet thankfully not leaving a trail behind. His side felt like it was on fire, his feet long since half numb from the cold. He felt inordinately sleepy, not from exhaustion as much as from exposure. With a gasping wheeze he concentrated all his attention upon the lad, telling himself not to be overly troubled by what he was beginning to observe from the youth's behavior.

The lad moved somewhat erratically, stumbling and glancing behind as if scared of his own shadow. Now that he was drawing nearer Aaron heard the occasional mutters and gasp of speech, unintelligible to his ears and making him wonder if the lad was touched with madness. Worse, what if he proved incapable of remembering names and dates? Still, such a person would not be roaming about unsupervised. No, he will have to do, he decided as the moment to reveal himself drew near. Either that or fall flat on his face trying, message undeliverable. Having chosen the former, he trudged onward, distinguishing the words being spoken and frowning in response.

"…_**yea, though I walk…through the valley **_of the shadow of death," Ceara recited aloud, tension clutching her throat, "…I will fear no evil—"

"_**Not a religious fanatic",**_ Aaron moaned, still forcing himself onward the boy. He was only a few meters away and it was time. "Please—" he croaked, his voice hoarse and feeble to his own ears.

_**Ceara heard an eerie sound **_and sped up, quoting aloud the words of comfort. "For thou art with me, thy rod and thy staff comfort me," she panted, nearly running. "Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies…"

_**Lunging out of hiding,**_ Aaron cried out again, his pain intensifying with the effort. "Help meee," he groaned as loudly as he could.

_**Ceara stopped abruptly,**_ her cap nearly falling off her head. Whirling around, she scanned the dark woods suspiciously, her breath shooting out in white puffs, ghostly in the eerie golden light. Forcing herself to hold her ground, she prepared herself to scream and frighten away whoever was in there. It was someone; she had heard them cry for help. With her eyes darting along the edge of the forest, she listened and waited.

_**Burning pain raging like a fire**_ out of control, Aaron nevertheless saw that he'd been heard. The lad stood without moving, gazing in his direction. An irrational spurt of joy burst within him as he dragged himself from the dense brush. "Over here…" he croaked. "Please, help..."

_**Heart pounding wildly,**_ Ceara stared into the darkness toward the place where a cry had issued forth. Praying for the supply wagon to suddenly appear, she waited, torn by indecision. Longing to flee toward the empty road and ignore it, she nevertheless found she could not move. Something told her to wait, and as she did she thought about what it would be like to be hurt and crying for help, only to be ignored. Maybe someone had lost their way in the woods or injured themselves, which happened often enough around these parts. As she stared toward the forest she saw something dart from one tree to another, something large and cloaked in black. Covering her mouth to keep from crying out she watched in horrified silence as he came toward her, took a few hesitant steps and then crumpled to the ground.

_**Floating as if in a dream,**_ Aaron was vaguely aware of falling. Strangely, he felt set free, as if he were flying. His gaze moved heavenward where a golden thread along the black horizon rose to reveal the sun. Suddenly the landscape was bathed in golden light, its silence strangely comforting. He made contact with the ground, at first feeling it like a nudge of someone's elbow. He felt like a marionette, twisting and settling back as if to lie down. Then his side met the frozen earth and a scream tore up his throat, a protest against feeling as if he were being sawn in half. Curling his arm around his wounds he felt his cheek scrape a rock as he finally came to rest, buried in a crackling bed of leaves. They filled his eyes with browns and russet colors which he studied in fascination, watching them change to a dull gray before everything went black.

_**Ceara leapt into action**_ once he lay still, years of training taking control and shoving aside all fear. She ran toward him without knowing if he were unconscious or dead, and that she needed to find out which. Surely he was a victim of the Regulars who sometimes passed through, just as she had been, someone who needed her. As she slowed her steps and stopped a short distance from him, she stood in the pale golden light and gazed down at him, holding her breath. Noting the place where his cloak parted to reveal the red uniform beneath she stood frozen to the spot, her mind flooded with memories and an unbidden wave of panic. Terror gripped her by the throat but she forced herself to take a deep breath. Then moving her gaze up his side to his face she confirmed that he was not the one. Letting out a shaky breath she slowly uncurled her fingers from the death grip in which she held her bag, staring at him in disbelief.

_What was a British officer doing here, traveling alone and on foot, no less?_

If she was lucky he was a deserter, yet the likelihood of an officer stooping to such a low level was rare. Still, she'd heard stories, and they were situated close enough to the north to make her entertain the possibility. Perhaps he was sneaking off to some intimate rendezvous with another man's wife, she snorted in distaste, finally deciding that his stiff form posed no imminent threat. So she approached him, dropping to her knees at his side and turning to open her bag. Rummaging through its contents she pulled out what she needed and set to work.

_**He was being rolled to his back**_, Aaron realized as he began to surface from the darkness. Slowly pulling open his leaden lids, he gloried in the light of the sun and smiled at the crazy swaying of the trees overhead. He felt suspended between joy and despair, day and night, keen insight into the spiritual and numb awareness of his body. He felt the rush of cold air travel over his stomach, the tickling of what felt like powder as it was sprinkled over him. The trees whispered comfortingly to him, the light caught in their arms bathing him in hope. Squinting with effort, he reluctantly lowered his gaze toward earth, down to the boy's cap and unkempt hair he noted as he leaned closer over him. Aaron frowned at the subtle fragrance of flowers, for he had thought it wintertime.

He heard the wet slap of fabric being flung down and felt fingers toying at something at the center of his chest, peeling back his clothing and freezing him as he was exposed to the cold air. The powder which had tickled him began to burn into his wounds, searing him with a flash of pain that was somehow lessened but caused more throbbing. The fingers lowered toward his waist, tugging at his shirt and igniting waves of intense pain throughout his body. Growling in protest, he swung his arm up to defend himself as something warm trickled down his side.

_**Ceara lurched sideways, deflecting the blow**_ he'd aimed at her shoulder. Though his hand fell limply to one side she leaned closer to grip his shoulders, ignoring his confused expression.

"Keep still!" she shouted, amazed when he quickly relaxed beneath her grip. She watched his eyes dull as he drifted toward passing out again, vaguely aware of their masculine beauty and steely gray colour. Though it would greatly ease his pain to fall back into oblivion she could not afford to let that happen. The crude and dirty, blood soaked bandage had to be changed and she had to get him to his feet. To do all that she had to keep him awake.

"Good, stay that way so I can work," she ordered, pulling his shirt from his pants with one hand and gripping her scissors with the other. Quickly exposing the bandage he'd wound around his waist, she pushed away his clothing and cut apart the old linen to examine the size and shape of the wound. Frowning at the dirt and hay clinging to its reddened edges, she peered around his side to see another wound at his back, one she hadn't noted before he cried out in pain. Something had penetrated the flesh at his side, going in from the front and passing out at his back. Sighing in relief, she judged it to be from a bayonet, not a gun, thankful she would not have to deal with anything embedded inside.

"I'm sorry—I didn't know about your back," she told him without much sympathy, gently peeling away the rest of the bandage. "Which was it, womanizing or deserting? Who caught you, the husband or one of your own men?"

Without waiting for him to answer, she glanced up at his stunned expression while pressing a pad full of powder up into his back, leveling her elbow against his bare chest until he stopped struggling against it. He shut his eyes in agony, clenching his lips tight but uttering no sound, earning her instant respect. Slowly easing the pressure, she reached for a clean bandage and slipped it beneath him to bind the wound.

"They must be searching high and low for you, your being an officer and all," she said, leaning closer to pass a strip of fabric beneath him and around his waist. The finely muscled strength of his body surprised her, for there were not many officers she'd heard of who did the kind of physical activity resulting in such a build. At least not among those she had once treated.

"Another minute and the pain should start to dull," she lectured, placing a larger pad over the nasty bayonet wound in his side and securing it with two small knots. Moving to lean back she gasped when he gripped her wrist, snapping her attention back to his eyes.

_**When their eyes met Aaron realized his mistake.**_ She stared at him a moment before growling menacingly while she twisted to free herself, then shot to her feet.

"Don't touch me!" she shrieked, pointing an accusing finger at his face and stamping her foot.

He flinched at the vehemence in her tone, staring into the beautiful blue fire of her eyes. Her cap had flown off, spilling her black hair over one shoulder in wild disarray. His confusion concerning the boy who smelled like lavender and flowers was immediately dispensed. Her expression hardened as she came closer and knelt at his side, this time leaning over his chest to pin his shoulders to the ground with surprising strength.

"If you ever grab me again—" she hissed, "I shall scream down every living soul within ten leagues to full alert, so be warned _Mister!_"

The ferocity of her reaction so belied her petite size and beauty that he stared at her a moment, feeling a wave of hysteria surging up from his chest. Pushing his head back into the frozen ground and too weak to fight it, he croaked with laughter which sounded more like wheezing. This caused him considerable pain which he swallowed, grasping his side with one hand. To his surprise the pain was not as it had been, making him wonder what potion she had sprinkled over him. Gulping down air, he tried to stop the hysteria rocking his chest.

_**Ceara glared at him in disbelief.**_ He was _laughing_ at her! Swallowing an unladylike expletive, she pulled away. "How dare you—we'll see how funny it is when the militia gets their hands on you, Lieutenant!"

He shifted beneath her with a grunt of pain, making her feel a flash of guilt which she covered up by turning away to rummage inside the depths of her bag.

"Now keep still and let me finish," she said evenly, turning back to smooth salve over his dry and crusted lips. She watched him close his eyes in thanksgiving and smiled despite herself. _This is a rare one,_ she thought without wanting to. _He almost acts human…_

Her respect for him grew as he endured the discomfort of having his stiff and bloodied clothing refastened in order to keep him from shivering more violently. She could tell by his colour that he was dangerously in need of warmth, and wondered how long she had until he wagon came along.

_**Fighting a sudden wave of nausea,**_ Aaron opened his eyes and tried to concentrate on her instead. _Who is she, this little beauty dressed as a boy? And what is she doing out her, all alone in the dark?_ She could not have been even twenty years of age, for her skin looked smooth and rosy in the cold light of morning. Though his mind flitted from one possibility to another he decided that she was an angel of sorts, despite her obvious bad temper. An angel that carried medical supplies, and who apparently knew how to use them.

Steeling himself for the inevitable refastening of his jacket, he rejoiced in the scant warmth this afforded him. It was then that he was impressed with the thought that he needed to tell her something, yet he had to struggle to remember. He felt increasingly weak and tired, and focusing his thoughts was an effort. She moved away but rested her hand upon his shoulder, and he realized she was talking to him. It dawned on him that she wanted him to sit up, her voice sounded so like an echo. Squinting up at her, he began to remember and shook his head, resisting her tug at his coat.

"Leave me—" he croaked, watching her brow wrinkle and her eyes fire in anger. But she paused, watching him carefully. "A favor—deliver a message…" he gasped.

"I'm not planning on leaving you," she scowled, nevertheless bending closer as if to better hear him. "What kind of message?"

He swallowed, his throat dry. "An ambush, on the militia—"

A look of shock and confusion lifted her features as she shook her head. "But, your voice—"

"On the tenth, at muster," he gasped, "…it's a trap…warn John Masters..."

_**Ceara leaned back slightly,**_ keeping her hand on his shoulder as she stared down at him. He had found his voice and spoken, quite clearly, and without any accent. Looking at him with growing suspicion, she decided he was no deserter. Running her eyes over his uniform and focusing upon the cuts around his mouth and the large dark bruises along his jaw, she frowned into his gaze.

"You're not _British,_" she accused, holding the sleepy challenge of his gray eyes. His chapped lips parted very slightly.

"And you're no boy."

Her eyebrows rose a notch higher. "Am I to believe you are a spy?" she said cynically.

He relaxed his head back against the frozen ground, closing his eyes. "It doesn't matter...you know Masters?"

"Yes, but how do you—and who stabbed you?"

"Masters must get word to Fort Stanwix," he choked. "Captain Burke…knows me."

"Masters drives our supply wagon," she said carefully, amazed to hear the sound of the supply wagon at that very moment. She nodded toward the road. "That should be him, now."

Suddenly he opened his eyes, meeting hers. "Help me up—" he croaked, lifting his head with some difficulty.

Placing her hand beneath his neck, she slid her arm beneath his shoulder and managed to half lift, half drag him toward a sitting position. She worried over his labored breathing, alarmed at the wheeze and gurgling she could hear coming from deep in his chest. Fearing the effort would render him too weak to stay alert, she shifted behind him, finally bracing him up against her chest. He groaned and dropped his head forward, and she felt him clench his body to gag.

"Breathe deeply," she soothed, feeling sudden compassion for him. "It will pass, but you're very weak."

_**After a few difficult breaths,**_ Aaron raised his head and leaned to one side, careful to stay up with all his weight upon one hand. Her advice worked, and he knew he had to trust her in order to get him to his feet. She was petite in form beneath her baggy boy's clothing, and he judged her head might not even reach the top of his shoulder. Yet without further comment she curled her hands beneath his arms and lifted as he bent a knee and managed to lever himself up to the other. She was stronger than she looked, and by the time he got to his feet his suspicions concerning her height were duly confirmed. She wound her arm around his waist as he swayed, planting a hand upon his chest to steady him. They could hear the slow clopping of hooves and the creaking of a wagon drawing near.

"Lean on me," she said, pulling him closer. "Easy now…"

With her guiding and half supporting him, they started across the uneven field. He silently ordered his feet to keep plodding, though he could barely feel them by now. Judging by the sound of the wagon he judged the distance to the road to be more than he could manage, and instead chose a landmark toward which to aim himself. They made slow but steady progress and he felt weaker than he had ever been, even compared to his days in prison. By the time they reached the stone wall he slumped down onto it, lowering his head to its mossy surface as he gasped for breath. Yet he felt like kissing the cold stones in relief.

_**Ceara wound her arm around his shoulders as he turned his head**_ to retch, but nothing was in his stomach. Tormented with nausea, he continued to moan and gasp for breath, clutching his middle. Gently massaging the back of his neck to comfort him, she felt the spasms pass and smoothed her hand up and down his back.

"Hang on, Lieutenant," she encouraged him as she left his side. "I'll be right back with help."

_**At the calling of his name John Masters**_ turned his head and saw someone running across the field, waving one arm high at him. As the lad drew nearer he recognized her, despite the boy's clothing. Pulling on the reins, he drew the team to a halt and pulled up the brake.

"Ceara Connolly whatever are you—?"

"Come, quickly!" she waved to him, turning to look back at a figure sitting upon the stone wall. Masters saw a man slumped over, obviously unwell. Without a word he jumped down as she turned back, following her as he shook his head.

"What have you gone and found now?" he complained, suspicious of any stranger in this part of the county, especially one in uniform. He'd thought they'd seen the last of the Regulars pass through by now, but given the fact that Ceara Connolly was with one, he questioned the man's authenticity.

"He came out of the woods," she explained, stepping around him to gently lift his arm over her shoulder and darting under it as he came up to his other side. "Help me get him to the wagon."

Together they eased him to his feet, Masters leaning him more in his direction.

"Watch out," she warned, "he's wounded clean through the side."

"Gunshot?" he asked, guiding his faltering steps toward the wagon with slow progress.

"Bayonet."

Though obviously in pain, the man kept himself upright, but did not lift his head.

"He say anything?"

Ceara looked up with a sly smile. "Strangely enough, he asked for you."

Masters glanced at the man's profile, noting the perspiration over his upper lip and forehead. "He knew my name?"

"He did," she affirmed, concentrating on the slight dip at the side of the road. They maneuvered over it and eventually approached the foot of the wagon bed. Slowly sitting him down upon the lowered gate, she glanced up.

"Ambush," the man gasped without looking up. "At muster, the tenth…"

His head dropped down as Burke nodded and climbed up, reaching to drag him into the wagon. Ceara helped get him situated on his back among the boxes and sacks of supplies.

"He said a Captain Burke at Stanwix can vouch for him," she informed him while covering the patient with an old woolen blanket he kept in the wagon.

_Burke_...Masters was careful to keep his expression blank as he turned to climb into his seat. "He did, did he?"

"What do you think?" she asked, causing him to turn his head. Burke watched her finish tucking his cloak around his shoulders, folding a tarpaulin over him. She had the man's head in her lap and glanced up.

"He's on our side then," he had to affirm. "But don't tell a soul—we'll have to hide the uniform."

Ceara nodded, pressing her fingers to the side of the man's neck. To Masters his skin looked a deathly white. "We must hurry," she announced as he turned to release the brake.

"I'll help you get him settled, then go for the doctor."

"And you'll relay his message?"

"Of course I will," he admitted. "We cannot risk the safety of the militia."

_**They reached the estate**_ in a quarter hour's time, pulling up at the back entrance to the infirmary. Ceara tore her eyes from the man's face and looked up at Masters as he approached the foot of the wagon.

"I've thought of an identity for him," he stated, glancing away to be sure no one was about. She pulled away the tarpaulin as he began to climb back up. "I found him in my barn wounded," he said quietly, helping her ease him to the edge of the bed before he jumped back down to reach for him. "He was on his was to desert but they found out and tried to stop him. I was bringing him to the doctor when I saw you walking to work, so I gave you a ride. You don't know anything more than that, understand?"

She frowned as she climbed down and helped him lift him Thankfully Masters was a large man and could carry him in his arms. Opening the door and glancing back before they entered, she helped him lay him upon the table in the surgery. "They will try him and hang him if they find him," she argued, removing his cloak.

"In his business he'll expect that," Masters declared, pulling off the man's boots while she worked on his jacket. "We can hide him pretty well, but if they do catch him we'll have to cooperate. Anything different will raise suspicion…once he's back in British hands the ones who placed him will find out."

"How do you know that?" she hissed, gently peeling off the shoulder of his uniform. "The doctor will have to report him with that story!"

"Ceara, I think I know a bit more about these things than you do..."

She looked up, a doubtful expression on her face. "Do you, Mr. Masters?"

He reddened as he helped her undress the man. "Why, do you have a better plan?"

She nodded, dragging off his shirt. "I think I do…though it's a risky one."

He looked up, scanning the windows beyond the surgery. "Well, tell me quickly before someone comes," he ordered gruffly. "No saying who might be hanging around here."

She nodded, and together they started cleaning him up in preparation for the doctor's arrival. Neither noticed the small head that poked up at the window beyond, or the bright eyes smiling with joy before disappearing from sight.

Masters straightened from his work, planting his hands on his hips as he waited for Ceara to cover the man back up.

"I never thought you'd go back near those woods again," he told her with a nod of approval. "'Twas a brave thing ya did."

"Not brave," she said, looking up with a frown, "just dedicated to my work."

_c. 2008 by Christine Levitt_

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	2. Chapter 2 The Patient

_**Chapter 2 The Patient**_

Betsy Baldwin whistled tunelessly as she crossed the common on her way to work. Gazing up into the lazy descent of soft, fluffy snowflakes she sighed happily, dreaming of her spring wedding. Marcus had already been gone several months, traveling to Maine to begin building their cabin. His last letter was filled with details on the progress, something she would not have expected from a man of few words. He was getting almost as excited as she was, eager for their new life together after three years of engagement. She missed him more than she had thought possible, longing for the sound of his voice and the warmth of his dark eyes. Waiting had always been difficult for her, and the memory of his departing kiss had made it even more difficult. Blushing even after all this time, she glanced around suspiciously to make sure no one detected it. Thankfully few were up and about this early, and swinging her gaze toward the horizon she concentrated on the day before her. Ceara would be waiting for her to relieve her, and if they had a moment in private she intended to have a word with her concerning her own future.

_Poor Ceara,_ she moaned in frustration. Her friend was too stubborn for her own good, turning down yet another proposal from Marcus' friend Peter. They had worked so hard to convince Peter that beneath Ceara's unladylike appearance lay a perfectly fine young woman who would make a very loyal and suitable wife. To his credit, Peter considered their recommendations and although he was 40 years of age and a widower he was also a generous and temperate man. Unfortunately their lectures with Ceara did not find so accepting an audience. Though she had pointed out to Ceara the fact that women like themselves who had virtually no dowry were quite simply limited in their choice of suitors. Yet after meeting him only once Ceara had judged him too reserved and lacking the spiritual depth she sought in a husband. Using her late father as an example, she had stated that she needed more in a man than a roof over her head and money: she needed a soul mate.

Striding down one frozen track in the road, Betsy dusted the snow off her shoulders and shook out her skirts. Her efforts startled a flock of crows in the field, who rose up as if in protest to her disturbing them. Frowning at the dark woods beyond, she blamed the forest for what had happened there two years ago, when Ceara was attacked and nearly raped by two soldiers passing through. She still had nightmares which robbed her of sleep and made her fearful of any man's attention which strayed beyond the polite strictures governing society, including considering a suitor. In Betsy's mind, all this added up to a dismal future as a spinster, a fate which she hated to see for her friend. Peter was the only one who might have the patience to deal with Ceara, as well as provide her with the sense of protection she so desperately needed but spurned. And now she had rejected him as well.

"Whatever am I going to do with you, Ceara?" she muttered, lifting her head and seeing the infirmary from a distance. "I cannot leave for Maine in good conscience unless I help you find your _soul mate_."

_**Dr. Koch finished his examination,**_ nodding to Ceara when she met his gaze. He gently replaced the linen, lightly covering the abdominal wound as she laid another cool cloth upon the patient's brow. Rising from his stool, he gathered his instruments and went out into the hall, waiting for her to join him there. Drying her hands on her apron, she met him here, awaiting his instructions while keeping a listening ear toward his room.

"I'm leaving for the day," Dr. Koch informed her, glancing toward the only private room in the ward. "The sutures are clean and dry and the inflammation is subsiding. Keep medicating him for pain and do what is necessary to bring the fever down, as you have been. We'll know more in another day or two if the pneumonia is under control. "

She nodded. "All right—when do you expect to return?"

"Tomorrow afternoon, but if you need me just send someone and I'll come. Tie him to the posts if necessary: we cannot risk him reopening the wounds. And I want to see both you and Miss Baldwin when I arrive."

"I've already decided to stay overnight, in case she needs my help."

"Good," he nodded, moving toward the door. "If you find discover anything more regarding his identity, put it into his report."

"Of course," she agreed. "Though I doubt he will be willing to share much of it."

Koch shook his head with a tired sigh. "Deserters…as if we haven't enough trouble already. Every one of them heralds the arrival of his superiors back to where they are not welcomed."

"Yes sir," she agreed, biting her lower lip as she closed the door after him. Watching him go to his buggy and climb in, she slowly expelled her held breath. "Paperwork," she sighed, wondering how she might make it disappear.

_**Aaron opened his eyes**_ to near darkness, his pain raging through his side and back. At his side a lantern burned low, casting dark swirling patterns onto the ceiling above his bed. He stared at them in dumb fascination, his vision beginning to clear. His head felt as if it was stuffed with cotton, his ears half blocked to the sound of the wind howling beyond the single window of what seemed to be someone's old bedroom. He had no idea where he was, nor what had happened to him after he dragged himself from that stone wall. He had vague memories concerning his rescuer, but everything following his meeting with her remained blank, which caused him a great deal of anxiety.

Lowering his chin, he studied the light bandage over his belly, panting with shallow breaths to keep the worst pain at bay. He decided against lifting it to inspect the wound, not sure he could deal with the sight of it again. Trailing his fingertips over the linen strips binding his waist, he felt for the back wound, finding it heavily padded in contrast. He was lying at an angle, his wounded side tilted up by a wedge type bolster beneath his back. This was aggravating the pain from his old injury but he was too weak to pull it from beneath him, and he knew the effort would only worsen the pain from his other wounds. Settling his head back against the mound of pillows, he distracted himself by examining his surroundings. His eyes wandered along the cracks in the wall, past the distant wardrobe which faced him and circling around to the small table at his side. Besides the lantern it held several bottles, a glass and a pitcher. His throat was parched and his lips dry and cracked. He measured the distance between his left hand and the glass, deciding it was too great to span without risking falling from the bed. Taking a moment to close his eyes, he swallowed painfully and tried to plot his next course of action. Without realizing it, he slipped quickly back into oblivion before he could manage the effort.

_**Ceara threw back the bedcovers,**_ catching his arm before he drew them back. He was shivering and she knew the fever was on its way back up. If he began thrashing again she would have to use the hated bindings, but if she did not he might try to get up again. She was losing her struggle against his superior size and strength, even in his weakened condition. Trying not to panic, she called Betsy and placed a knee on the edge of the bed to hold his shoulders down. Leaning over him, she felt his breath pant against her cheek.

"Lie still now," she soothed, lifting a hand to smooth back his hair and then shove his blankets lower. "You've got to cool off, and the linens aren't helping."

""s all the same," he whispered to her surprise, turning his head on the pillow. "…cannot make me…"

Quickly scanning his features, she noted the old scars around his ear and neck which testified of an alarming past. Surely he was reliving whatever he had suffered before, so unaware of the present did he seem. "I'll not force you to do anything but heal," she told him softly. "You must fight to live."

He smiled before breathing out a ragged sigh. "Lies," he whispered, his expression twisted by pain. "All lies…"

Betsy appeared at the door, gripping the frame as she stared at him in disbelief. "Not again!"

"Get the ropes," Ceara ordered, pushing his shoulders as he tried to get up yet again.

"But he's worse when we use them," Betsy complained as she marched toward the foot of the bed. Still, she picked up the padded rope and grabbed his right arm, slipping it into the binding. This she secured with a tug and a loop over the bedpost. "I fear it's the only way."

"It's just until he quiets down," Ceara pleaded, struggling with him until Betsy secured his other wrist. "If this fever rises any higher we'll have to get him into the tub."

"We won't be able to," Betsy predicted, rinsing out a sponge while Ceara opened his sodden bed shirt, shoving it back off his shoulders. She took another sponge and began cooling his arms with witch hazel, which made him shiver even harder. "We should give him another half dose," she decided, noting the careful sponging of his neck and chest Ceara executed. "Dr. Koch is being too conservative with him: he is obviously stronger than he appears."

"Or more willful," Ceara commented, submerging the sponge again. "I haven't your experience but I think you're right." Squeezing out the liquid, she gently brushed his chest to cool him off. Her eyes darted to his face as she worked, noting the tense set of his jaw as he fought to free himself.

Betsy finished his right arm and moved around the bed to tend the other. "He's a soldier all right," she stated. "God knows what he's already been through." When she finished she carried away the basin and began to mix a stronger draught of pain medication into his water glass.

"He thinks we're the enemy," Ceara excused, gripping his chin despite his growl of protest. "Hand me the spoon so I can feed it to him."

Betsy brought the glass closer, watching him turn his head away from Ceara's efforts. "We're only trying to help you," she told him, smiling despite her frustration when he laughed in triumph.

"He's got to be dyin' of thirst," Ceara said quietly, her eyes moving over his drawn features. His lips were cracked and dry, and she made a mental note to fetch her lip liniment and use it on him again, wondering how she could have forgotten about it. Then she smiled knowingly and got up. "Wait one minute," she told Betsy, going to her bag. "I have an idea."

"If you can make him take something I'll personally see to it that you get the next day off that comes round," Betsy announced, still holding the glass. She watched Ceara return to his side and lean over, touching a finger to his lips as gently as possible. Moving very slowly, she smoothed her liniment over the seam of his lips as he quieted suddenly. "You're a genius," she breathed, smiling as Ceara glanced up.

"He just needs a lady's touch," Ceara observed, turning back to her work. As she continued to smooth the balm over his lips his body relaxed. Betsy went to the opposite side and quickly slipped a dry towel beneath his arm while Ceara measured out a spoonful of his medication, leaning close to tease it against his lips. "I used to do this with the wee ones, and it worked every time," she said softly, squeaking with pleasure as his lips parted. Tilting the spoon up, she trickled the contents between his lips and he swallowed it, still resting quietly.

"That was all it took!" Betsy chuckled softly. "Here, give him a little plain water on the spoon."

Ceara obeyed, watching him accept it gratefully. Betsy ran to pour a shot glass of water and held it out as she slid a hand beneath his head. Lifting him only enough to keep from spilling the water, she teased the edge of the glass against his lips. To her astonishment he rose up and drank greedily, emptying the glass. Using the opportunity to pour the medicine laced water into the same glass, Betsy handed it over and they got him to drink that as well. Finally easing his head back toward the pillows, Ceara she watched his eyes drift open and eventually center on her face. Holding her breath, she studied the silvery glints therein, realizing how beautiful his eyes were.

"My angel," he whispered, closing them with a soft sigh. She watched his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed again, finally relaxing his lips and the tension in his jaw.

Betsy laid a hand upon her shoulder. "Oh my," she breathed, laying a hand over her heart.

Ceara looked up at her. "'Oh my' what?"

"His eyes are gorgeous," Betsy whispered, glancing down at the well muscled chest and arms she hadn't paused to notice before. "And now that I take pause to notice, the rest of him is fine too."

Ceara frowned. "Fine or not, help me change him," she ordered gently, lifting his wrist from the binding and slipping his arm from the nightshirt. Together they changed his clothing and drew a light blanket up to his chest.

"He'll rest well now, and so can we," Betsy yawned, stretching her back as she planted her hands on her hips. "He's got to be the most difficult one yet."

"You could be correct, but we didn't make so much of a mess this time," Ceara observed, checking his bandages one last time. "If he sweats too much I'll call you to help me change the sheet."

"Thank you, I think," Betsy teased. "Now I'm off for a few hours of sleep." She patted Ceara's shoulder, again turning her attention to their patient. "He's a bit dark for my taste—my Marcus being so fair haired and all…does that make me prejudiced?"

"Definitely," Ceara smiled, easing back into the chair at the side of the bed. The medication was already beginning to work, she realized, still a bit stunned by the way he had seemed to look deep into her soul, even in his delirium. Pushing aside the thought, she swung her gaze to Betsy's strangely knowing look.

"You've got your own man, Bets," she reminded her. "And I have a feeling this one's already taken."

"Do you?" Betsy teased, raising an eyebrow. "What if he isn't—would you be interested?"

Having had this discussion times before, Ceara decided upon a new approach. "I might be," she smiled saucily. "He and I do seem to have a certain understanding between us."

"All that 'spy' nonsense?" Betsy waved a hand in dismissal. "You don't really think he was telling you the truth, do you? Sounds like a handy excuse, one which _deserters_ tend to use."

Ceara looked back at his face as he began to breathe more slowly and deeply. "I don't know what to think," she admitted, noting the masculine beauty of his well shaped lips. "He told me to leave him to die, just to see that I delivered his message."

Betsy took a moment to consider the implication of her words. "It _would _be a shame to lose him, spy or no spy."

"We're not going to lose him," she insisted, her eyes on his face. After a moment she heard Betsy's soft goodnight and the echo of footsteps retreating down the hall. Leaning forward, she pulled the blanket over his shoulders and reached for her Bible. Settling back in the chair, she opened to the Psalms, intending to read softly to him. It couldn't hurt, she thought, hoping the power in the words might give him added strength to fight his good fight. After she had read him ten or more sections she rested her hand in the seam and sat watching him until she lost track of time.

_**Aaron awoke slowly, his head swimming **_with mist and his body limp and worn out, as if he had run uphill for days upon end. Too tired to open his eyes, he listened for the sound of the howling wind but decided whatever storm had raged outside had since died down. After a few moments he began to notice another sound, like soft breathing, making him open his eyes. Someone was in the room with him, and he slowly turned his head toward the sound, staring in disbelief at the sight before him.

He was not, as he'd supposed, in a prison hospital, nor even a jail cell. Nor was he home, being cared for by his mother or sister. For in the chair pulled next to the bed sat a young woman who fit none of those settings. _It was her. _She sat facing him, sound asleep in her chair. By the dim glow of a lantern he studied her, ready at any moment to close his eyes and feign sleep should she awaken. Then, telling himself he had nothing better to do for the moment, considering the leaden numbness of his body and blessed freedom from excruciating pain, he allowed himself to apprise the enemy.

Her head was slightly bent to one side, and he studied the dark fan of her lashes spread over her high cheekbones. Her skin looked soft, and the dark rose of her lips even softer, almost inviting in sleep. Dragging his gaze away, he compared his present observations with those previously entertained, when he had awoken flat on his back upon the frozen ground with her bending over him, struck by the inconsistencies in her. Vividly recalling the exact pitch and volume of her chastising screech, he found her present quietness compelling. Her she was, sleeping peacefully at his side, obviously fallen slack on her watch.

"Some sentinel you make," he whispered, his eyes dropping to the soft rise and fall of her chest, veiled by the heavy woolen shawl crossing her front. They traveled upward along the black tendrils of hair which had escaped her bun, returning of their own volition to her lips. From deep within him something pulled at his heart which he feared might be longing, or worse, desire. Startled by its appearing, he shifted his gaze to the lantern, suddenly wanting her awake and looking at him. He had to look into the intense blue of her eyes to remind himself of her steely disapproval of him, hoping it would cure him of his momentarily lapse into sentimentality, if not humanity.

"Fool," he chastised himself, closing his eyes and turning his head away. It was the fever, he decided, always pushing him into wayward thought and imaginings. Shamed by his own weakness, he barricaded his mind from the trickle of excuses already filtering through his memory. He had been tortured for weeks after being betrayed, and barely escaped only to be engaged in a work that cost months of lonely, exhausting and dangerous travel. The many threats to his life and sanity rose again before him as excuses to indulge himself in a little comfort, all of which he shoved aside.

"I just need rest," he whispered, unable to return to sleep. Feeling edgy and lethargic at the same time, he let his gaze wander instead over the room, noting its sparse and humble furnishings. It was nothing like the home where his mother now lived, but reminded him of the distant past, before his father had been murdered and they'd been left alone. He thought of his sister and prayed she was well, his gaze returning to the woman in the chair who was close to her in age. Who was she, he couldn't help wondering, and where had she brought him?

She muttered something in her sleep, her whisper drawing his unwilling attention back to her lips. He waited but heard no more, yet could not seem to pull his gaze from her person. The light cast a soft shadow over the curve of her cheek and he decided that the shape of her face would best be described as a heart. Her hair framed it like soft black fringe, teasing the high collar of her dress and curling provocatively toward the curve of her breast. Forcing his eyes away, he noted how her sleeves were rolled up to her elbows, revealing delicate wrists and arms. He vividly recalled her hands unfastening his clothes and tending to his wounds, then supporting his head and massaging his neck when he felt so ill. Her strength belied her size, for she had somehow dragged him up and onto his feet, the rest of his journey here still a mystery but no doubt guided by her aid. But most of all he remembered the other voice she used, the low pitched husky one which encouraged him and promised him the better benefits of the Psalms. It was that voice which had filled his dreams, promising him the protection of his God, telling him to lie still, to drink and to live when he no longer cared to.

Why had she been dressed as a boy, he wondered once again. Tonight she was wearing a navy gown unadorned by lace or ribbon. Even the sleeves were plain, perhaps explained by the large book which lay open in her lap and was no doubt a holy one. Suddenly suspicious of her intent, he fought to identify the words she had used to guide him along rivers of light which mirrored his delirium, describing a world of praise and music he could not understand. She was part angel, he decided, if angels could take on human form. Her anger with him had surely been borne of fear, for her compassion and generosity outweighed her less tolerant qualities. Still, as he laid eyes upon her holy book he had the distinct impression that she was out to convert his black soul. Pursing his lips, he steeled himself against the probable exhortation she would give him when she awoke, and he wanted nothing to do with that brand of faith which leaned heavily toward judgment and prohibited passion and human love. Closing his eyes in regret, he turned away, swallowing against the bitterness in his throat. But still he could not find sleep.

After some time he heard a sigh, followed by the soft swish of fabric as the chair creaked softly. Her breathing had changed and as he held his breath he tried to relax his features so that she would not suspect he was awake. Unfortunately a cool hand touched his brow, the thumb stroking gently over his temple. He stiffened, feeling the brush of her fingers over his cheek. It was too much like a caress and made his pulse race despite his insistence that such would never be her motive. She was a nurse and was testing the intensity of his fever, nothing more. Yet it frightened him that even a mere touch of comfort could awaken his imagination so powerfully.

"You're awake," her husky whisper declared, followed by a waiting silence.

Slowly turning his head, he looked up into her darkened eyes and smiled wickedly. "So are you."

He heard her sharp intake of breath and a jolt of excitement leapt within him. She rose up to a more stiff posture, perched on the edge of her chair.

"How long were you lying there, pretending to be asleep?" she accused softly.

He held her eyes as his lips curled knowingly. "Long enough."

She huffed in mild affront and shifted to the edge of his bed, causing him to stiffen even more. "Are you in pain?"

"Define 'pain.'"

She turned her head. "I'll get you something—"

"No," he interrupted, wincing at his order and forcing himself to use a different tone than that which he used with his men. "I'm fine."

She studied him more carefully than other women had dared, piquing his curiosity. He liked that about her…no charming smiles, no batting of eyelashes, no deceitful games, just an honest appraisal.

"You're too weak to fight me every step of the way," she chastened him softly. "If you are feeling pain then we haven't medicated you properly and that needs to be adjusted. But I _will_ get you to cooperate with me, one way or another."

Intrigued, he stared at her coolly. "Are you threatening me?"

"No, but If you don't do as I ask I could make your time here very trying, Lieutenant."

He let his guard down somewhat, hating his own title, especially riding upon her lips. "Don't call me that."

She shrugged. "All right Sir, Mister, You—"

"Aaron," he sighed, suddenly caring nothing about his identity or position. "My name is Aaron."

Her eyes traveled over his features before she leaned closer. "Is that your real name?" she whispered, her lips curving up.

His eyes were drawn to her mouth, and something sunk into his gut. Forcing his gaze back to her eyes, he narrowed his scrutiny. "All right—what do you want?"

She smiled and turned to reach for a small glass of liquid. "I want you to drink this," she announced, brining it before him. "Just to fight back that raging infection in your side."

He tilted his head to study her. "How do I know you aren't trying to drug me and have your way with me?"

She laughed aloud, catching herself. "I've already done that," she explained, holding the glass higher. "It's your only alternative to shaking chills and delirium, so I think you'll do well to take my advice, Aaron."

He sighed in frustration as she brought the glass to his lips. He raised a hand of warning, careful not to touch hers. "I didn't agree—"

"You sighed," she challenged, touching the rim to his lips. Too thirsty to argue, he tilted his chin down and drank half the contents, the blessed water bathing his parched throat.

When she took it away she eased his head back to the pillows, feeling dizzy from the effort. "I must have my wits about me," he explained, feeling her hand touch his shoulder.

"I understand," she said softly. "But fear not—that was ground willow bark for your fever, not for pain. And just so you'll know, I have other ways to make you take that medication."

"I doubt you managed to accomplish that, Miss—"

"I did, but getting anything past those cracked lips of yours is indeed a challenge," she informed him. "I believe your thirst won that battle for you."

He looked up, noting the tiniest of smiles upon her lips. "I earned those cracked lips," he grumbled.

She smiled happily and rose to her feet. "I'm sure you did—now, are you hungry?"

He thought about it, closing his eyes in defeat. "Famished but not willing to risk it."

"Is there anything you crave?" her lilting voice asked him. "Anything you dream of eating or drinking right now?"

He thought about it a moment, smiling wickedly. "An orange."

"Oranges? In November..."

"You did ask."

There was a long pause during which he rested back, closing his eyes. Then her voice startled him.

"I'll be right back."

He opened his eyes and turned, but she had already left. Curious, he listened to her steps tap down the hallway and then there was silence. Sighing and feeling strangely comfortable, he closed his eyes again and did not notice her return until a fruity fragrance rose to his nostrils.

"Will dried cranberries do?" her voice teased as one touched his lips. His eyes shot open as she popped it into his mouth, forcing him to chew as she beamed down at him with obvious pleasure. He swallowed and nodded.

"I believe they might."

"I'm so glad I found them!" she said softly, feeding him another, as if he was a baby. Even more astoundingly, he let her.

The seconds ticked by slowly as he felt a strange intimacy with her, indulging himself in that simple pleasure. The soft touch of her fingers upon his lips stirred him deeply, feeding his emotions until he felt his reaction begin to affect more than his emotions. Aware of her hand moving back to his lips he pursed them, staring back at her confused expression. Her smile faltered as she sobered immediately, glancing away and picking up the small bowl she'd balanced upon his chest.

"I'm sorry," she breathed, her voice breaking. "I should let you get some rest now."

"Thank you," he said quietly, waiting for her to meet his gaze. He lifted a hand toward her before he remembered her reaction the first time he grasped her wrist. When she saw him stop himself she looked even more embarrassed before she turned away to straighten the top of the table.

"You feel threatened by my touch," he said quietly, noting how she stopped abruptly but would not look at him. Suddenly he wanted to know everything about her, despite the fact that he had not felt that way about anyone before. Nor was he in a position to indulge in anything remotely resembling friendship. Still, he couldn't seem to help himself and reasoned that it was his illness and all the medication he'd taken.

"It's not you," she assured him, finally turning her head but hesitating, as if she could not explain it herself.

"It's none of my business—"

"I shouldn't have been teasing you," she admitted, shaking her head. "It was just that you seemed to take such pleasure in the taste of a few dried berries…"

"I enjoyed it," he admitted, holding her gaze when it shot back to his. He smiled hesitantly. "It helped distract me from my pain," he explained, not being completely honest with her. "Is that not part of your job?"

She thought about this a moment, the reserve in her expression easing somewhat. "Yes, I suppose it is…part of my job."

Turning back to the lantern she lowered the light, turned to lift the blanket higher to his neck and bid him a quiet goodnight. As she left he was keenly aware of losing something, yet he could not quite decide what that was. Closing his eyes, he gave himself up to his weakness and fell into a deep sleep.

_c. 2008 by Christine Levitt_


	3. Chapter 3 The Visitor

_**Chapter 3 The Visitor**_

Ceara walked silently along the carpeted hall, pausing just before she reached the nursery. Holding her breath she listened to her sister's voice as she sang the same lullaby their mother had sung to them when they were little, and later to their younger brothers. Clutching her scarf over her mouth she bowed her head with fresh grief, surprised that it still overtook her when she least expected. It had been three years since they lost their parents, two years for her brothers. Feeling raw pain eat at her heart, she swiped at her eyes and forced herself to concentrate on the present. But now she knew how Cecily had managed her grief so much better than she had. With a new baby to distract her, she had hope for the future and was no longer alone.

Taking a deep breath she readied herself after the song had already ended, and peering around the corner of the door she saw them in the rocking chair by the window. Suddenly, as if sensing her presence, Cecily stopped rocking and turned her head, smiling when she saw who it was. Nodding for her to come in, she turned back to finish nursing Matthew. Ceara tiptoed toward them, staring at the precious sight of Matthew's tiny hand fisted around Cecily's forefinger. She stopped and leaned closer, peering into the blanket at the tiny curve of his cheek and thick swatch of red hair. Smiling at her sister, she slowly lowered herself to the window seat opposite them and sighed. She was exhausted from work but could not help stopping by on her way home to see them.

"I'll put him in the crib," Cecily whispered, slowly easing toward the edge of the rocker. Ceara knew how much she loved holding him, sometimes letting him nap on her shoulder or in her arms just to keep him close. There was no doubt in her mind that he would grow up not only loved but spoiled, yet somehow she couldn't blame Cecily. Matthew was a very good baby and had quickly become her whole world.

"You look exhausted," her sister whispered, gently placing the sleeping baby in his crib.

"I just worked two full days," she whispered back. "But I wanted to check on you before going home to bed."

She waited while Cecily fastened her bodice and followed her downstairs toward the kitchen. It was one of their rituals, sharing at least one meal every other day.

"He'll only sleep for a few hours, but we can have breakfast together," Cecily announced, glancing back at her over one shoulder from where she stood by the cupboard. "That is if you can stay awake that long."

"Do you have enough?" Ceara sighed, draping Jamie's scarf over a chair as she slid onto the cushion.

"Mrs. Meade left some eggs warming—I'm sure there's plenty."

Ceara plopped her elbows onto the table, cupping her chin in her hands. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but breastfeeding gives you an appetite worthy of two."

"I'm going to add bacon and toast," Cecily chuckled, spooning the eggs onto a plate. "You can have extra eggs since you don't like bacon."

Ceara rested her cheek on the table as she slid the plate before her. A steamy cloud of cheese and scrambled eggs wafted toward her nose and she breathed it in, closing her eyes. "Can I sleep in your kitchen?"

"Certainly not," Cecily snorted, bringing her own plate to the table, as well as a glass of milk. "You can have the guest room if you think you cannot make it the rest of the way."

Ceara lifted her head enough to fork some eggs into her mouth, where she rolled them over her tongue in appreciative delight. It tasted so good that she straightened to a sitting position and had another taste. "Delicious," she commented, smiling at her sister's chewing cheeks.

Cecily swallowed with a smirk. "It's only eggs, Ceara."

"Tastes like heaven to me," she grinned back, eating another mound.

"Only because you live so far below the level of normal comforts," Cecily stated.

"No—because I haven't had much to eat, I've been so busy at work."

"Well, Mother would be horrified."

"By my liking eggs? I doubt that."

"No, by your preference for things ordinary, not to mention wearing Jamie's old clothes! Really, Cara, it's positively reclusive and odd the way you live and dress!"

Ceara set her fork down, watching Cecily eat a fourth slice of bacon. Just the smell of it turned her stomach, and always had. "That is not what I am doing, and Father would be equally horrified by the flaunting of wealth and position he could see in this house."

"I love this house, and you always thought too much of Father's opinions," Cecily huffed. "Mother even said so."

"They never saw things in the same light," Ceara sighed, looking away with sudden melancholy. "I miss them so much...even their fighting."

"Mother and Father never fought!" Cecily insisted, biting half of her toast.

"Not in front of you," Ceara said quietly, staring out the window at the panoramic view. Yet the sky was unusually dark and foreboding, warning of another storm. She felt suddenly eager for the peace of her own room in Betsy's house. And once again she and her sister were at odds.

"Even Father admitted that poverty is a curse."

Ceara swung her gaze back to her sister's. "What does that have to do with me?"

"You're living in near poverty, Ceara."

Ceara raised her hand to hide a laugh. "You think I'm poor?"

"I know you are and there is only one solution," Cecily smiled, leaning back as if having come to the main objective of their conversation.

Ceara laid her arms atop the table. "And what might that be?" she said just to humor her sister.

"You must find a husband who can provide for you and lift you back to the position in which we were raised," Cecily lectured not for the first time.

"That depends upon the husband, not the position," Ceara complained, remembering Cecily's last candidate for her suitor.

"Perhaps you should look for someone like Caleb—"

"No thank you, and I thought you were going to leave the task to me!"

Cecily washed down the toast with her milk, her eyes wide. "I am," she insisted, "but I cannot get over the fact that you rejected _Harold Hastings_, of all people!"

Ceara moaned, lowering her head back to her arms. "Please don't mention that name again."

"But he's rich and away all the time!" Cecily argued, picking up another piece of toast. "Even better, he was not at all dissuaded by your behavior—in fact, he's waiting for you to change your mind…"

"He's going to have a very long wait."

Cecily got up to take away their plates, pausing to study her bored expression. "You haven't any other prospects, do you?"

"The Lord has someone for me, Cec—stop worrying about it."

Cecily sighed dramatically as she went to the sink. "You actually believe that, don't you?"

Ceara sat up straighter. "Yes I do, but I'm not going to argue with you about it again."

"You can have your faith and all," Cecily called over the sound of rinsing their dishes. "But where's the harm in looking around for yourself?"

"The harm is in being deceived into liking the wrong person, or for the wrong reasons," Ceara tried to explain. "Right now I haven't the wisdom or discernment to do anything myself, so you'll just have to be patient with me."

"Patient? Ceara, you aren't getting any younger," Cecily moaned, reaching for a towel to dry her hands. Her face glowed with sudden sympathy. "I just don't want to see you alone, or desperate, or both."

Ceara dried the silver, smiling indulgently. "I'm hardly desperate, Cec, or alone—"

"Oh really?" Cecily breathed, planting one hand upon her hip. "Then when was the last time you spoke to a man, other than at meetinghouse or at work?"

Torn between annoyance and appreciation for her concern, she hesitated. "I don't think that is the—"

"I thought not!" Cecily declared, smiling mischievously. "Maybe I will just invite Mr. Hastings back, even if only for conversational purposes—"

"Please, Cec—not him!"

"You clearly need the practice, and he made sure I knew he was interested in seeing you—"

"I spoke to a man last night!" Ceara blurted out, immediately regretting her rashness. To make matters worse, Cecily's eyes widened and her mouth turned up in a smile.

"You're blushing, so it must be true!" she observed, taking the towel and plate from her and guiding her back to the table. "Sit down and tell me, then—who is he, and where did this momentous meeting occur?"

Imagining her marching over to the infirmary and questioning the poor Lieutenant, Ceara grimaced at the familiar gleam in her eye. "Really, Cec, you mustn't get all worked up about such trivial matters!"

"He cannot be from the area, or I would have already heard," she breathed, gripping Ceara's hands. "Tell me everything, and when you are going to see him next—"

"That is my concern, not yours—"

"I have to be concerned!" Cecily argued. "Mother or Father would have wanted us to look out for each other—now tell me his name, and better yet what he looks like."

"I would rather you stay out of it—"

"Are you afraid I'll disapprove—oh! I hope it's not that man who just began working at the tavern, because if it is I think you had better be careful—"

"He is one of my patients!" Ceara hissed, glancing around to be sure no one was about—particularly not Cecily's husband Caleb.

"Not someone who's sickly, I hope?" Cecily worried.

"No, not sickly," she answered, praying that her little game was not actually an exercise in deception. She leaned closer, her only intent to bring her sister's continual nagging to a quick end, once and for all. "He just so happens to be a Regular who is no doubt on his way to jail for desertion, unless he manages to somehow escape, run for the border and live like a hunted man!"

Cecily paled and for a moment was speechless. Satisfied that her tale of a would-be suitor was enough to satisfy her for now, Ceara got up with every intention of retrieving her jacket and set out for home. But Cecily grasped her arm, clearly recovering her composure and hopefully ready to admit her efforts as matchmaker were no longer needed. She smiled and leaned closer to hug her fiercely.

"Then you must go with him!" she whispered excitedly, completely ignoring Ceara's gasp of dismay.

_**"Where is she?"**_ Aaron said groggily, gazing up at his nurse and trying to remember her name. _Barbara? Bernice?  
_  
Betsy shot him an accusatory look as she finished tucking in the bottom of his blankets. "Where is who?" she sighed, moving to draw the blankets over his shoulders. "You had better remember her name if you have any hope of holding her interest."

Aaron sighed tiredly, giving up the battle to address his caregiver properly. "I can barely remember my own."

"Not surprising," she chuckled, carefully turning to put the bedside table in order. "All these painkillers and fever reducers would make your mind foggy. Though I thought that perhaps, given the way you look at _her.._."

"Ceara," he corrected, "and it was your name I was trying to remember."

"It's Betsy," she laughed, waving a hand. "I've not tended you that much, at least not when you were lucid."

"Betsy…interesting name…"

"Mine or hers?" she teased, turning to face him. "Ceara means 'spear' in the Gaelic," she informed him, laying a hand on his brow to check his fever. "Suits her well, don't ye think?"

He thought of telling her not to worry about his fevers, which preceded this injury, but he felt too lethargic from the medication she'd just given him. "It does indeed...when' she back?"

"By the time you awake, luv," she said, patting his arm. "Now quit fightin' what I gave ye and get some rest. I'll be listening if you need anythin.'"

"Than' you.."

"_**Please, Doctor Koch—don't release him for transfer,"**_ Ceara begged, ignoring the deepening frown on Dr. Koch's face. "He'll never survive one of those prison cells in his condition."

"It is standard procedure," Dr. Koch said blandly, glancing up over the rims of his glasses. To her horror she saw his gaze narrow upon her features. "You're unusually concerned about him, Miss Connolly—anything of which I should be made aware?"

With a protest ready on her lips Ceara had a sudden thought, remembering what she had said to John Masters when they first brought Aaron here. If it was the only way to delay his being handed over to the authorities, then so be it. "Actually, since I doubt I can hide it from your notice, I do confess to an interest in the lieutenant's well-being."

Dr. Koch slowly set down his pen, studying the tiny smile she offered him. To her own amazement, she felt as if she were blushing. "Well I'll be," he murmured, his expression softening. "Could it be the slight rise in your colour indicates a more than professional interest in the man?"

Ceara straightened abruptly. "Certainly not!" she objected, blushing even more deeply. "It is just that I find him remarkably well mannered and intelligent…something of a rarity around here," she had to admit.

Dr. Koch chuckled as he dipped his quill into the ink to scribble across the bottom of his papers, then pushing them toward her. "You've got your wish," he announced, getting up to leave. "I'll wait another fortnight before reevaluating him."

"Thank you, Sir!" she said happily, initialing the papers and tucking them under a pile of other documents, hopefully to be lost forever. She had already decided that if she had anything to do with it, their spy would recover and continue on his way unheeded.

Dr. Koch pulled on his coat, his eyes still on her. "I wouldn't involve myself if I hadn't promised your father to look out for you."

"I know, Sir, and I appreciate that."

He raised a hand in defense. "This does not mean I've involved myself in finding you a suitor."

"My sister and brother-in-law manage that well enough," she sighed, "though I am perfectly capable of it myself."

He picked up his bag and leaned toward her, his eyes on Aaron's half closed door. "You must excuse them, Ceara…matchmaking is typical behavior among those of us who are happily married."

Staring at him in shock, she watched him walk calmly to the door and open it. He stepped out without a backward glance, as if that were not the first time he had spoken to her about anything on a personal level. Never would she have suspected the twinkle in his eye when he mentioned being happily married. Taking a moment to consider his suggestion and despite her annoyance with Cecily's interference, she made a note to be more tolerant of her well meaning sister. So it was with a sigh of resignation that she pulled out the ledgers and set to her own paperwork, her ear attentive to Aaron's call should he need her.

_**"Psst! Hey mister—wake up!"  
**_  
It was the second time he heard it, and the whisper brought him slowly to his senses. When it happened again he stiffened and opened his eyes, peering into the darkness of his room. The sound had come from across the room, toward the closet door which was strangely slightly ajar. Without sensing any threat, he carefully positioned himself higher against his pillows.

"Who's there?" he whispered, waiting and watching the door.

"Please, dunna tell!"

Clutching his side, Aaron thought it was Ceara, though it made no sense why she would pretend to be hiding in his room. Unless maybe there were others present and she wished to speak with him in private. Before long the door opened slowly, and after a moment a head peeked out. Judging by the size of the person, he realized it was not Ceara. The small hand stretching toward the post at the foot of his bed looked childlike.

"I had to come and make sure ye were all right!" the child whispered.

"Why must you hide in the closet?" he whispered, grimacing at the stitch in his side.

"I'm here to help ye escape!" he heard as he fixed his eyes upon the cloaked figure easing toward the foot of his bed. "They want to send you off to jail—I heard them yesterday!"

"How could you know that?" he demanded in a whisper. "Who are you?"

Without answering, the figure moved toward him, keeping close to the wall. "We've two horses waiting…all you have to do is make it to the stable…I'll help you."

Aaron shook his head. "I'm not going anywhere—"

"You must! The doctor wants to turn you in, I heard him!"

Having had enough of the masquerade, Aaron reached over to catch the sleeve of the cloak but the child scuttled away. Groaning in pain and clutching his side, he leaned back against his pillows, panting. As he watched the child hesitated, then slowly drew back the hood of the cloak. In the dim light he saw her face, recognizing her immediately. Dumfounded, he stared at her in disbelief.

Her eyes widened and then she smiled. "You _do_ recognize me!" she whispered, moving closer. "My name is Faith, by the way."

He nodded. "Pleasure to meet you, but why—"

"I had to find ye, to thank ye for saving my life…"

"Then you were unharmed?" he whispered, having assumed she would have fled the area after his men attacked her.

She nodded. "I'm sorry I ran away…"

"I hoped you would…"

Her eyes dropped to the place where he clutched his side. She looked up, her expression troubled. "They put you here, didn't they?"

He nodded. "Better me than you."

She bit her bottom lip. "I was afraid they would, which is why I have to help you—but you have to hurry."

"Go along to your family, Faith—you owe me nothing."

"My little brother's in the stables waiting for us—he's seven," she insisted. "We have to leave before _she_ comes with your dinner."

Aaron looked toward the door. "You don't have to be afraid of Ceara," he reassured her. "In fact, I think we should ask her to help you and your brother get safely home…I do appreciate your concern for me."

"We have no home," she confessed, glancing toward the door. "We're staying in an old church. No one will look for you there and you can rest—we'll hide you and take care of you."

"Are you telling me you have no other family?"

She shook her head. "Mama's dead now three years; Papa left soon after she died."

Aaron stared at her, careful to show no emotion. "You have been all alone since?"

"Yessir, but I take good care of Paulie, and he takes care of me."

Aaron leaned his head back, nodding. "I see."

At the sound of approaching footsteps Faith darted back inside the closet, poking her head back out. "Don't tell!" she hissed, closing herself in. Suddenly Ceara appeared at his door, glancing around his room as she gripped a tray between her hands. He waited for her gaze to fall upon him and smiled.

Her brow furrowed. "I heard voices."

Choosing not to respond, he watched her enter, set the tray down and raise the wick in the lantern. Light flooded the room and when she turned to face him he saw her blue eyes darken with suppressed emotion. She held his gaze, unconvinced and waiting for an explanation.

"I had a visitor," he admitted, watching her brows knowingly.

"A visitor," she stated simply. "At this hour of night?"

"I've all the time in the world," he said blandly. "I hope you won't inform the authorities of the violation."

She pursed her lips and turned toward the tray. "I suppose I could look the other way," she mused, picking up the bowl and holding it aloft. "If given the proper incentive…"

He glanced toward her offering as his stomach growled. "Incentive?"

"Eat this and I will overlook it," she bargained, smiling when he met her gaze. "No questions asked—

you _are_ hungry, I presume?"

She held it closer and he decided the odor was far from appetizing. Its green hue and brown chunks confirmed his suspicions. He looked up at her expectant smile. "What is it?"

She set the bowl between his hands and turned to set out the other items for him, extending a small plate of cheese and crackers toward him. "Pea soup, after which you can have this."

He gazed longingly at the simpler food. "I don't care for pea soup."

"Just have a little," she ordered. "It has bacon in it, and will give you strength."

He lifted the bowl toward her. "Perhaps a trade is in order."

She held the plate out of reach, nodding meaningfully toward the closet. "We haven't time to argue, Lieutenant."

His gaze burned meaningfully into hers. "I prefer just the cheese and crackers."

She smiled. "I hear the pea soup is quite tasty."

He challenged her with a stare which seemed to have no influence, toying with the idea of reminding her that all he had eaten in the past week was broth and dry crackers. He was ready for something more substantial, but not that hideous concoction she was offering. Why would she torture him, after all this time? To punish him for whatever fugitive she thought he harbored? He watched her eyes art expectantly to the soup, which he offered back.

"I'm afraid I must decline—"

"Then nothing else," she breathed, gently guiding his hands and the bowl back toward his lap. He resisted, not willing to tell her the real reason he could never eat it.

"Have you had some yourself?" he challenged.

"I ate at home tonight. You need the benefits of the broth."

"The cheese will be just fine."

"It is hardly an adequate substitute, Lieutenant; you need to regain your strength and more weight would not hurt either."

His eyes shot to the tangy smelling cheese, now a definite temptation. "Whatever for—lying abed all day and night?"

"No, of course not," she stated knowingly, eyeing the closet, "for your escape."

He felt cornered by the look in her eyes, holding it a moment and hoping that his fugitive would not be too upset with him. "You can come out now, Faith," he called without breaking eye contact.

Ceara stared right back. "It's all right, Faith," she soothed, glancing toward the hooded figure that peered around the edge of the door. "Come help me convince my patient to eat his soup?"

"Yes, miss," Faith said obediently, gently lowering her hood as her eyes moved from Ceara's face to Aaron's. He nodded encouragingly, forcing a smile.

"As you no doubt heard," he complained to Faith, "my _nurse_ won't let me have what I want; perhaps together we might convince her of the horrors of that dreadful soup."

Faith giggled and came closer, reaching for the bowl and handing him the plate, smiling hesitantly at Ceara. "You'll not get anywhere in forcin' him," she told Ceara. "But he is actin just like me little brother Paulie, who's seven."

Ceara laughed, folding her arms over her waist as Aaron popped a cube of cheese into his mouth and smiled victoriously. He was aware of her eyes following his fingers to his lips, then flitting down his bare throat and open nightshirt. When they returned to his waiting gaze he smiled lazily. "Thank you, Faith," he said softly, glancing at the girl. "Perhaps you might like it instead."

"May I, Miss?" she asked Ceara, who nodded. As she happily spooned it into her mouth, he wondered when the last time she had eaten something hot was.

"But I would like to hear an explanation for your daily robbery of the buttery, young lady."

Aaron's gaze shot to Faith's guilty look. She swallowed and glanced down, too ashamed to meet their questioning eyes. "She has a younger brother to feed as well," he explained, meeting Ceara's look of apology as he toward the door. "He's waiting for her, out in the stables."

She looked at Faith with a kind expression. "Then you must fetch him at once," she ordered, nodding when Faith looked up. "The ladies at the church have made too much pea soup, now that we know of Lieutenant Aaron's dislike for it—and I refuse to let it go to waste!"

Faith dropped her spoon and handed her the bowl. Then she shot to her feet and curtsied. "Thank you Miss, I'll go at once!"

They watched her run from the room, listening to her retreating footsteps down the hall, followed by the bang of the outside door. He bit into another piece of cheese, holding her eyes as he savored its creamy taste. Settling back against the pillows, he held her gaze and swallowed.

"You handled that well," he complimented her. "How did you know?"

She smiled tentatively. "Your guilty expression, for one thing—and we've seen glimpses of someone about for some time…since your arrival, now that I think of it."

He leaned back, half closing his eyes but offering nothing further. Having eaten only a few pieces of cheese and four crackers, he felt surprisingly full, languid in fact. And he did not mind having such a lovely visitor sitting across from him.

"You seem to have already been acquainted," she hinted, her manner more formal. 'How is it that you know each other, if I might ask?"

He heard excited shouts coming from across the yard outside his window, but he knew he owed her an explanation. "She was nearly raped by a group of Regulars, not long ago," he said soberly, looking out the window into the darkness.

After a few moments of silence, he heard her soft voice. "And you rescued her."

They heard the children's steps coming down the corridor and Aaron swerved his head toward the door, glancing at Ceara's profile. Just then Faith and her brother rushed into the room, shooting to attention and waiting to be addressed.

"This is Paulie, my brother," Faith introduced brusquely, pushing down on his shoulder until he bowed at the waist.

"Please to meet ya," he said to the floor. When he straightened, his eyes darted toward the plate Ceara had taken from Aaron. It still held a few crackers and some cheese.

"The pleasure is ours," Aaron answered, noting how Ceara's eyes remained fixed on Paulie. But she said nothing. "Would you like some of the soup, and the leftover cheese and crackers?"

Faith pulled the chair from the corner of the room and seated herself, then pulled her brother onto her lap. Ceara seemed to come to her senses, turning to hand Faith the bowl. Then she rose and went to the door, where she turned and held Aaron's gaze. "There is plenty more—I'll be right back," she said, nodding to Aaron.

"What's wrong with her?" Paulie whispered after she left, looking up at his sister. "She looked like she's seen a ghost!"

"Shhh," Faith urged, handing him the bowl and watching him eat ravenously. Her eyes drifted to Aaron's expressionless face. "He's real hungry, Sir."

"I can see that," he answered, feeling drowsy again. "Carry on, Paulie—don't be offended if I close my eyes…"

"Oh no Sir," he chuckled knowingly. "We'll come back for you another night, if you're not ready to leave."

"Yes, Sir," Faith added softly. "Whenever you're ready, we'll be waitin'."

_c. 2008 by Christine Levitt_


	4. Chapter 4 The Relapse

_**Chapter 4 The Relapse**_

_**Cecily shifted to her back, smiling with pleasure**_ as Caleb drew the blanket up to their waists. Her body still tingled from his touch, and she closed her eyes to savor the feeling. Feeling his arm slide across her ribs to rest beneath her breasts, she turned her head and blindly met his possessive kiss, wondering if he was about to begin all over again. Loving the changes in her body as the added bulk from her pregnancy was dwindling away, she stretched her arms overhead and snuggled against him, shivering with pleasure as he pressed against her side and settled back into his pillow. Curling against him, she lowered her arm to draw his head into her embrace and sighed contentedly.

"You look like the cat that just ate a mouse," he teased, purring into her ear and making gooseflesh rise all along her skin.

"I'm happy, darling," she whispered, clasping his hand to her stomach and holding it in place. He stretched it wide over her newly flattened abdomen.

"As am I," he said huskily, turning her to her side and holding her back against his length. "I love coming home after a trip, when I can be sure you missed me."

She turned her head and gazed at his teasing smile. "You know how much I miss you when you're away!" she gasped, careful not to talk too loudly and awaken Matthew.

"Then come _with_ me," he urged, hugging her close. "You know how much I need you to distract me from the tedium of my work, especially with the wealthier clients."

"Maybe next time," she sighed. "I haven't because Matthew is still too young—"

"The change will do you both well," he reassured her. "And we won't have so much loving to make up for when we return."

"Oh really?" she breathed, laughing softly. "And how do you expect to carry on if we are all cramped into one hotel room?"

He frowned. "I hadn't thought of that…perhaps we can reserve a suite, instead."

"Why don't we discuss it in the morning?" she suggested with a yawn, pulling up the blankets.

"Good idea—try to get some rest, at least until he wakes up for his next feeding."

She stretched her head back against his neck as he cradled it with his chin. "Tis a pleasure to feed him," she breathed, closing her eyes.

"Tis more of a pleasure to watch," he chuckled, grunting when she jabbed her elbow into his side. This only made him tighten his arm around her and nibble her neck.

"You are an insufferable lecher!" she giggled softly, pulling his hand up and holding it in hers.

"I am only a normal man, my dear," he breathed into her ear. "And I did not only refer to the luscious sight of you feeding him."

"Caleb!"

"No, truly—it warms my heart to see you two together: my little country girl of a wife, nursing our handsome son. What more could a man want?"

She sighed and ran her fingers over his forearm. "I cannot think of anything else in the world…"

"There is perhaps one thing…"

Nearly asleep, she realized he had spoken to her. "Hmmm? And what is that?"

He yawned dramatically and relaxed along her length. "To see your sister quickly married off…"

She nodded, yawning herself and patting his arm. "We will, darling…we will…"

_**Her Thursday shift was nearly over when Ceara heard the noise.**_ Glancing up from inventory to check the time, she frowned and turned her head toward the direction of Aaron's room. He was a restless sleeper, she knew by now, but another dull thud brought her out of her chair and sent her rushing to his door, where she halted in stunned shock. He met her glare of disapproval with pain and solid determination in his own, despite the face that he stood slumped against the wall, one arm curled about his waist. He was breathing heavily and she could see perspiration dotting his brow. The grim set of his lips relaxed as he attempted a grin.

"Guess I lost my balance," he croaked, slowly straightening but leaning heavily against the wall.

Recovering from her shock, she rushed to duck beneath his arm. "What are you doing?" she gasped, placing a steadying hand at his waist. She felt him stiffen in response and noted the heat of his skin through his thin, half buttoned nightshirt. "You are in no condition to be getting up without help—"

"I'm leaving," he announced, lifting his arm from her shoulders and wincing in response.

"You cannot be serious—" she warned, moving with him toward the wardrobe. She was afraid that if she did not he would fall facedown.

"Help me find some proper clothing," he ordered, grasping the top edge of the sturdy piece. "I'll need a few supplies as well…"

Keeping a hand at his waist she watched him pull a shirt from the top drawer. "In case you haven't noticed it's the middle of the night, not to mention the approaching storm," she protested. "Have you considered the possibility of opening your wounds and disturbing Dr. Koch—"

"Who is shipping me off to prison at his earliest convenience," he said tightly, adding a vest and undershirt to the pile atop the bureau. Ignoring the hand she clamped around his arm, he turned to head back toward the bed, halting when she darted around him to block his path.

"He only _thinks_ he is!" she whispered, gripping his upper arms. Regretting her decision to wait until morning to share her news, she looked up at him pleadingly. "When Mr. Masters escorts you away in three days' time it will be to escort you instead to a place where we can hide you."

He gently eased her aside. "I'm leaving tonight to stay in Faith's abandoned barn, but I do appreciate all that you've done for me." But everything is in place—"

"Now I suggest you go back to your paperwork," he warned, one hand poised at his waistband, "unless you wish to witness me changing my trousers."

She snatched the pile of clothing up and held it to her chest. "If you leave before the 29th you will miss Captain Burke—"

"Burke, coming here?" he gasped, glancing toward the door. She inadvertently glanced down at his half unfastened trousers. "Why didn't you tell me sooner?"

"With Dr. Koch here every day there was no opportunity!" she hissed, coming closer. "We must not risk too many people knowing—"

"Including me?" he shot back, bending toward the bed with a grimace of pain. She watched him set a hand to his side and pause before he slowly withdrew it. They both stared dumbly at the blood which was staining his fingers.

"Now look what you've done!" she squeaked, tossing the clothing onto the bed as he slowly sat down. She knelt before him and lifted his shirt up. "I need to get some bandages."

"I'm fine—what about Burke?" he demanded, watching her rush to retrieve scissors and bandaging.

"You need tending first," she replied, searching for the antiseptic.

"Exactly what communication have you exchanged?"

"Later," she dismissed, sitting next to him and unfastening his nightshirt. "Lean back so I can see what you've done to yourself."

"This is more important," he insisted, obeying her orders nevertheless. When she pulled off the shirt he pulled in a sharp breath. "Now tell me how you contacted him—"

"Stop giving orders," she snapped, cutting away the blood soaked wrapping. "I'm not one of your foot soldiers, and I prefer to concentrate on your wound at this moment!"

He glanced up at her with narrowed gaze, and the heat of his glare shot shivers of forbidden excitement down her back. "Very well," he breathed, letting her take his hand and place it over the new bandaging to staunch the bleeding. "If that's the only way I'll get an explanation."

With a sigh of frustration she leaned past him to stand his pillows higher, guiding him to lean into them so that she could work. He leaned upon his good side and followed her silent instructions. From time to time she looked up to note the clench of his jaw and pale color. He was obviously in a lot of pain but she had to clean the wound and inspect its edges. Thankfully there was no sign of redness, drainage or swelling to indicate recurrent infection, but the top two stitches had broken and needed repairing. She got up and went to the table to find what she would need.

"Well?" he asked gruffly, "Report in, Commander."

Smiling despite her irritation with him, she avoided his gaze. "Patience, Lieutenant."

"I didn't realize you were that stubborn, _sir_."

"How gentlemanly of you to say so," she said sweetly, coming back toward him and perching on the edge of the bed. "Two of your stitches need to be replaced, so you will have to hold very still."

He waited for her glance and held it defiantly. "I appreciate the extra effort."

She turned to soak both needle and thread in antiseptic, noting the fact that he pulled the pillows beneath his ribs and prepared himself. Helping her as best he could, he braced himself as she touched his side. "We haven't time to wait for a draught of medication: would you like a shot of liquor to help?"

"No—I don't partake."

Raising her brows in silence she began, working as quickly and expertly as she could, all the while admiring his fortitude. He had an unusually high tolerance for pain, she noted, much greater than in any other patient she had treated. Given this, she could not help but wonder what his life had been like before he had come here, how much he had suffered and borne. He endured with no more than a soft gasp, and once the new stitches were in place she cleaned the wound, applied liniment and finished with fresh dressings. Thankful for his wordless cooperation, she felt herself blush when he raised his arms to allow her to circle his waist with two layers of bandaging. This brought them into close and intimate contact, and unbidden thoughts of what it might feel like to be held in those arms rose up before her. For the first time in her life she found herself too aware of him as a man, not just a patient. It both frightened and thrilled her, making her wonder what it was about him that drew her.

When at last she helped him into a clean nightshirt and rested her hand upon his shoulder, she studied his paler complexion and worried over his quickened breaths. Getting up to prepare a draught of medication for his pain, she handed it over to him and tried to hide her surprise when he drank it quickly and wordlessly. He even let her guide him back further into the pillows and cover him up. When he glanced up at her looking spent and exhausted, she held her tongue and nodded in satisfaction at the slow transition of his taut neck veins back toward a more relaxed appearance.

"Now rest," she ordered, her eyes moving to the center of his chest where a sprinkling of dark hairs peeked out from his nightshirt. Snapping her eyes back up she met his fascinated regard, but he said nothing. More flustered that he had noticed the direction of her attention, she quickly gathered her supplies and carried them to the table.

"Your report?" he prompted, turning his head to watch her shaking hands as she set things back to order and stepped back, smoothing her damp palms down her white apron. Avoiding his gaze and feeling silly, she heard his much softer tone command her. "Please, Ceara, sit down," he asked, and she knew that he regretted his brusque manner.

She turned her head and eyed him suspiciously, but sighed out her frustration and pulled her chair closer to the bed. Sitting upon the edge, she gripped the arms and met his waiting gaze.

"Four days ago Masters met with Captain Burke at an undisclosed location," she began. "He had traveled under the guise of buying supplies at a specialty merchant over in the next county."

He nodded but said nothing, his eyes dropping to her hands.

"Upon returning he informed me of the prearranged meeting on the 29th," she continued. "He will come for you on Monday, retrieve your transfer documents and escort you presumably toward Boston. Instead you will be driven to a safe house and hid until your meeting."

"Who else knows about this?"

"Only the owner of the tavern," she said primly.

"Tavern?" he frowned, leaning his head back into the pillows. "Are you sure this owner can be trusted?"

"Of course—he and Masters are old friends."

"Patriot friends?"

"Yes, of course!" she huffed despite his steely gaze. "Don't you trust us?"

"Surely you realize what I risk in trusting anyone," he defended.

"Well unfortunately your present condition forces you to do so, despite the obvious fact you find the task so distasteful!"

"You've judged me correctly," he admitted, his gaze softening a bit. "Though for some odd reason I find myself trusting you…"

She loosened her grip on the arms of the chair. "Now I suppose I should feel honored, or perhaps flattered—"

"Hardly," he huffed, smiling unexpectedly. "It is I who am honored, flattered and sorry…and I did not realize I was giving you orders."

Amazed at the rapid changes displayed by this man, she was taken aback. "I am just as guilty of giving orders, but I apologize as well."

He nodded. "Apology accepted?"

"Of course."

He settled back, the tension in his face easing. "Since I am under your supervision, it is only natural that you should give the orders, having my best interests in mind."

She nodded. "I do, Lieutenant."

"Aaron."

Relaxing herself, she felt a bit exhilarated by winning what felt like a great battle. "Then please, indulge me one final order: you will not leave before our plan has a chance to be implemented, is that clear?"

He nodded. "Very…there is one problem, however—the two youngsters waiting for me in the stables."

She gasped, glancing toward the door. "Now?"

"No, I was to meet them at midnight."

She got up, glancing down at him. "I give them your regrets—perhaps tomorrow they could come here and listen to your explanation: I am the only one working then, at least until Betsy's shift."

"That would be fine, if you could deliver that message."

"I will if you give me your word to stay right where you are."

"I promise."

"Good—now try to get some rest; I'll go tell them and come back to check on you afterward."

"I would appreciate that," he said, watching her get up and straighten the room. "What, no more orders?"

She glanced up from emptying the instrument pan. "I've had enough fighting for one night."

"How refreshing."

She smiled and presented herself for dismissal. "We might both manage better with a little less sarcasm. Now let me help you pull up your legs and get settled. It is good that you didn't get to your boots yet."

He complied, looking exhausted. She drew the blankets up to his waist and stood back. "Anything else before I leave?"

"No, thank you," he answered, and she noted the improvement in his colour.

Turning toward the door, she stopped when he called her name. "Ceara?"

Resting a hand on the door, she turned back. "Yes?"

He held her gaze a moment. "If you could talk some sense into those two, I would appreciate it."

She nodded. "I will see what I can do."

She watched him close his eyes and left him alone, going back to her desk to check the time. Putting away her books, she reached for her cloak and headed for the door which led toward the stables.

"_**Faith?" she called quietly,**_ once again knocking softly upon the barn door as loud as she dared. Shivering in the cold air, she pulled her jacket tighter and heard a voice on the other side of the door.

"Where Is Mr. Aaron?"

She smiled with relief. "He's resting now—may I come in?"

After a moment the inside latch clicked and the door opened just enough for her to slip inside. Once she did the warmth of the barn wrapped her with welcoming arms. Her eyes took a moment to adjust to the darkness as she heard the door being latched before Faith came closer.

"What do ye mean 'now'?"

Ceara rested a hand upon her forearm. "He tried to come himself, but two of his stitches broke open when he got up," she said carefully. "I had to replace them in order to stop the bleeding."

"Oh no!" Faith gasped, covering her mouth. "We only wanted to help him escape!"

"But he's fine—"

"He won't be if he stays!" Faith squeaked. "I heard the doctor tell you he was going to turn him in—"

"How did you hear that?"

Faith glanced nervously behind her, moving away from the door. "Come with me first?"

Obeying without further objection, Ceara followed her to the far end of the stables and ducked behind the stairwell. There she saw the small living area they had arranged, where Paulie sat facing them dressed and obviously ready to leave. But his expectant look fell at the sight of them.

"He's not coming?" he breathed, his brow creased with worry.

Ceara tried not to stare at his sweet face, so reminiscent of her own lost brother's. Had he lived, he would be Paulie's age by now.

"He broke two stitches," Faith explained, nodding toward Ceara. "She had to sew them back up to stop the bleeding. We will just have to wait 'til he's better."

"Lieutenant Aaron sends his regrets," Ceara explained, coming closer at Paulie's beckoning. She sat upon the worn carpet stretched over the hay strewn floor, hiding her dismay at their poor living conditions. _If Aaron saw them like this, he would leave with them anyway, _she somehow knew. "He feels badly about not coming, but you mustn't blame him: as his nurse, I forbad him to get up."

"But if he stays he won't be safe," Faith whispered, sitting down and putting an arm around her brother's small shoulders. "We have to help him, for he helped us."

Paulie nodded, laying his head upon Faith's shoulder. Ceara was touched by their closeness, wondering what father would leave them all alone to fend for themselves, even though Faith must be at least 14 years of age.

"We will make sure he is not mistreated," she reassured them, though it was obvious from their expressions that they were hesitant to believe her. "But you must trust us that his wellbeing is our greatest concern."

"Why should we trust anyone?" Paulie wanted to know.

She leaned closer. "All I can say is that when he leaves here, there is no telling where he will truly go."

"You're going to hide him—I knew it!" Faith whispered happily, turning to Paulie. "Didn't I tell you she likes him?"

"I didn't say that, but you must believe that everything will be taken care of, so you don't have to worry," Ceara reassured them.

Paulie stared at her a moment, nodding slowly. "All right, but we will miss him."

Suddenly realizing the probability of never seeing Aaron again, she found herself overwhelmed with a sudden, deep sense of loss. "Tomorrow you may see him, if we are careful that no one sees or hears you, all right?"

They both nodded. "We'll make sure no one knows we're there."

"Come for dinner; but until then it's very late and I think we should all be getting some rest."

Paulie lay down immediately, pulling a coarse woolen blanket up to his chin. "I am tired all of a sudden, now that he's not coming."

"He hated to disappoint you," she replied, feeling somewhat guilty for elaborating on what little Aaron had said.

"We must be patient," Faith encouraged him, bending to kiss his forehead. "Now close your eyes while I walk Miss Ceara to the door, and then I'll be right back."

Ceara met Faith's hesitant smile as they both got to their feet. "Good night, Paulie," she said softly, "It was nice to meet you."

"G'night," he called, closing his eyes with a yawn.

Following Faith out into the main section of the barn, she walked close by Faith's side.

"We're very fond of Lieutenant Aaron," she explained, "even though we hardly know him. You can tell by his eyes that he has a good heart."

Ceara paused at the door, putting a hand on her arm. "One more thing, Faith—Lieutenant Aaron asked me to move you both to a nicer place, just so that he knows you'll be safe."

Her expression softened as she studied Ceara's face in the dim light. "He would do that, wouldn't he? But I don't know…we don't want to be any trouble."

"You would not be," Ceara agreed. "You don't have to stay if you don't like it."

"Maybe, just until our father comes back, looking for us."

"Let me see what I can find out—Betsy and I have plenty of room and could use your help."

"The other lady nurse?"

"Yes—we share her parents' house."

"So you'll have to ask them, too."

"That won't be necessary, Faith: they moved far away and soon Betsy will be going there to join them and her new husband."

"She's married?"

"Yes, her husband is building them a house. So you see, I will be all alone and would welcome the company."

"Do your parents live far away too?"

Ceara lifted the latch and rested her hand on the door. "My parents passed away, Faith."

"You are an orphan, with no family?"

"I do have a sister and one brother left—he is a soldier."

"Then you had other brothers, like Paulie?"

Ceara nodded. "Yes, and Jeffrey looked very much like Paulie."

"What happened to them?"

"My parents were killed in the fighting…my brothers died of fever later on. We tried to care for them, as you do for Paulie."

"So you don't want anything to happen to us, do you?" Faith asked gently.

"No, I don't…please, let me help you."

The girl studied her a moment, finally nodding. "If it is all right with Betsy, and with Paulie."

"Thank you, Faith. You'll give my mind some sorely needed peace if you do."

"Goodnight, Miss Ceara, and thank you."

Ceara smiled as she let herself out. "We will see you tomorrow…God be with you both."

Faith put a hand on her arm to stop her. "You do like him, don't you—Lieutenant Aaron?"

Ceara tried not to appear as surprised as she felt. "He's a fine man—"

"Because he likes you—I can tell by the way his eyes light up when he sees you. It reminds me of the way our papa used to look at Mama…"

"Faith! Whatever made you think such a thing?"

"And I think you like him, too!" she squeaked happily. "I knew it!"

"Please don't make a match of us, Faith—I have enough people trying to force me, when such things must come to be of their own accord."

Faith smiled and stepped back. "I would let you help me find a husband—I'm of age already."

"Don't rush things, Faith. You must pray about whom to marry—now get to bed, please!"

Faith nodded and watched Ceara walk away. When she turned back, the door was closed and she breathed a prayer of protection for the two children, remembering how she had felt in nearly the same position. It was no way for a child to grow up, she thought, going back inside.

Taking a moment to glance into his room, she was relieved to see that Aaron was sleeping soundly, judging by the slow rise and fall of his chest. Placing a hand to her head, she wearily made her way back to her desk, counting the hours when Betsy would come to relieve her.

_c. 2008 by Christine Levitt_


	5. Chapter 5 Recuperation

_**Chapter 5 The Recuperation**_

"Your message helped avert a disaster," a gravelly voice interrupted.

Aaron looked up from his tray to see John Masters standing in the threshold of his room. He met his somber gaze and nodded. "I'm glad for it."

"I wasn't sure you were told," the older man stated, glancing hesitantly into the room. "May I?"

Aaron gestured for him to come in, watching him with unveiled interest. What prompted this visit, he wondered. It had been two weeks already since his arrival, yet the date of the planned ambush upon the militia had long past. He waited while Masters slowly seated himself and leaned back to stretch his back. "That particular group had ten boys within its ranks, the oldest barely 16 years of age," he stated, shaking his head. "It hasn't been long ago since many of their friends were killed in the fighting in these parts, so the warning is much appreciated."

Aaron leaned carefully forward to set his tray aside. "This is an unfortunate business, for all concerned."

He felt the weight of Masters' gaze as he leaned stiffly backward. "You look a bit less peaked than the last time I saw ye, Sir—"

"Please—call me Aaron," he insisted, stretching his hand to clasp his. "I've you to thank for averting my own disaster."

Masters nodded, darting a glance toward the door. "He's not in yet, so I came with my own warning about the good doctor," he said quietly. "No one is certain of his loyalties, for he has yet to choose which side he prefers."

Aaron leaned back again, clutching his aching side. "Not unusual, given his profession, but I appreciate the word of caution."

"As you're no doubt aware, he is required to file papers for every patient," Masters lectured, "especially the passers-by."

Aaron nodded, smiling indulgently. "I cannot help but sense you've a deeper purpose in coming for a visit, Mr. Masters."

He nodded, crossing one calf over his knee. "We happen to live in a very loyal part of the colonies," he said quietly, his eyes darting to the window. "The presence of an officer such as yourself would no doubt arouse much interest, were it to be known."

"I see."

"At present you are rumored to be just another deserter, yet people tend to wonder why the doctor delays transferring you to the prison hospital."

Aaron patted his heavily bandaged midsection. "I am a wounded deserter."

"That you are," Masters agreed, his weathered face intent. "Yet I am afraid it is more complicated than that, with all the speculation about you and Miss Connolly…so much so that her reputation has suffered because of you."

Aaron stared at him in shock, hardly believing his ears. "Her rescuing me was solely a natural response for someone in her profession, and my delay in leaving is only because of my wounds—"

"Her care for you exceeds anything seen before, and we are just concerned for her reputation—"

Aaron nearly laughed out loud. "Miss Connolly has a sterling reputation—"

"How would you know that, lying up here?" Masters challenged, pulling his chair closer when Aaron could find no adequate rejoinder. "Even Miss Betsy has become concerned, but truly the blame rests upon Caleb Godwin."

Mystified, Aaron leaned back into his pillows. "Who on earth is he?"

"The husband of Ceara's sister, a very clever Tory who masquerades as a patriot," Masters explained. "He's fooled most of the townspeople but we've had our eyes on him for some time. His rush to marry off Miss Ceara is the subject of fierce gossip and we fear she will not wait around for him to arrange it."

Aaron put up a hand. "I beg you, please tell me what any of this has to do with my lingering presence as a deserter."

"No one outside this infirmary has any idea that you are a young and handsome gentleman...one whom I assume is unmarried?"

Aaron hardened his stare. "That is hardly anyone's concern—"

"Added to this obvious fact are Ceara's sudden and prolonged absences from her sister's home, thereby arousing suspicion as to why all her time is now spent here."

"She is obviously a very hard worker—"

"But we have never seen her like this before!" Masters shouted, alarming even himself.

Aaron stared at him, unable to discern what he was trying to say. "Like what?"

"_You_ know!" he grumbled, looking away. "Taking interest!"

Aaron wound a protective arm around his throbbing side, by now thoroughly confused. "Whatever are you talking about, Sir?"

Masters planted both hands upon his knees and leaned forward. "She is _interested _in you, and not just as her patient, and if you haven't noticed that your state of health is worse than any of us guessed!"

Aaron expelled a frustrated sigh and gazed toward the window. "I have noticed," he admitted more to himself than to his visitor. As the silence lengthened between them, he looked meaningfully at the man who apparently served as her protector, aside from this Caleb person. "Though it is no one's concern."

Masters pulled his chair closer. "It is clear to me that you have been traveling so long and far you no longer realize what goes on in a town this small in size."

"Well it won't be long before I leave again, and whatever bit of enjoyment we've shared in each other's company will soon be forgotten by all concerned."

Masters frowned. "If you really knew _her_, you would never even think that."

Aaron pulled himself higher against the pillows. "I sense that she has suffered greatly at the hands of whatever man mistreated her," he said quietly, "and if I can help undo the harm then I might count my time here worth the delay."

"You've extended more grace to her than any suitor her brother-in-law could find," Masters stated, "and he will not take that into account when he forces a marriage upon her."

"I doubt there is anything I can do about that," Aaron answered, unable to keep from somehow feeling guilty.

Masters shook his head. "Since your arrival she has fared well, even beginning to show signs of her old self. Miss Betsy and I have both noted the change."

Aaron gaped at him. "Surely you don't consider me a potential suitor? The fact that I am currently incapacitated does not release me from service—"

"All I am doing is looking out for her future!" Masters breathed, running a hand over his face. "I am going about it clumsily, I admit."

Watching him, Aaron felt his frustration dissipate. Telling himself to tread very carefully into uninvited territory, he held his gaze. "What happened to her?" he asked quietly, watching his expression soften.

"It happened three years ago, when she was just a lass…they attacked her, three of them."

"Regulars?" Aaron guessed.

Masters nodded. "Her parents were well to do, God rest their souls…when the fighting came here they took over their home and quartered soldiers there. Apparently some of them had long forgotten their manners."

Aaron had seen it himself, quartered soldiers taking advantage of the local women. He clamped his mouth tight to keep from voicing his own bitter memories and rage.

"Her family avoided being home as much as they could, and one day she was off exploring the woods by herself. They followed her and waited to surprise her: had it not been for a local hunter they would have raped her. Shot them dead, he did, and when it was found out there was a skirmish. The troops torched the house with her parents bound inside. After that they moved on from these parts."

Aaron closed his eyes in pain, realizing why Ceara had reacted so strongly to his uniform. His heart went out to her, and because of this he had to find out the rest. "But her sister was spared," he prompted.

"Yes; the older brother managed to gather them all and hide them for a while—once he set them up with the Baldwins, he enlisted and went straight to Ticonderoga."

Aaron stared off into the past, unable to look Masters in the eye. "...and the boys?"

"Died of fever the next year; they were the youngest...that seemed even harder on her."

Aaron grieved for her loss as the story continued. "Her sister Cecily married right away but Ceara was left alone with her grief…so now you know why she acted the way she did on findin' you."

"Perfectly understandable," Aaron excused her.

"I didn't know till later that she took your uniform and burned it," Masters informed him. "She hid your decorations and other personal items in the stables."

"I will be needing them," he said soberly, weary just from thinking of getting back to his former activities.

"…she was goin' to tell people you were her long lost secret love, come back to claim her," Masters said, holding his gaze when Aaron shifted his attention to him. "She's become that desperate, just to hold off the suitors her brother-in-law forces on her…our biggest fear is one day she will just run away to join her brother in the fighting."

"What about her sister—surely she disapproves of such manipulation?"

Masters shook his head. "Her loyalty is to her husband, and it's divided them like nothing else. The fact is Ceara knows you need a reason for staying, and playing the role for her might help you both..."

"I see," Aaron frowned, thinking it too dangerous a game to play, especially because he was growing more fond of Ceara every day.

"One cannot blame her for reaching for straws," Masters added. "A long lost love would seem an easy way for her to overcome her more recent fears from the attack. There have always been stories of deserters joining our side, some even marrying into the cause."

Aaron leveled his most threatening gaze at Masters as if to block the path down which he seemed headed. But the man seemed determined.

"She just needs an escort to help her get away," he said matter of factly, "whenever you leave for wherever it is you plan to go."

"Where could she go, into the fighting with her brother—at Ticonderoga?"

"He's been transferred by Stanwix, last she heard."

"Surely she could not be thinking of enlisting!"

"Miss Betsy fears she'll pose as a lad and go, just to be with him they were that close."

"That is preposterous!" Aaron gasped, grasping the mattress to get up before he thought better of it.

"It might just work she's so good at disguising herself."

Aaron found himself unable to dismiss the vision of her dressed as a young man. She'd fooled even him, he had to admit, smiling as he remembered how she looked in the much too large clothing.

"Until one looks into those eyes of hers," he thought aloud. Suddenly realizing his mistake, he looked up and held Masters' knowing look.

"You've fallen into the hands of a very desperate woman," Masters said with twinkling eyes.

Aaron pondered his predicament in light of Burke's future arrival and the gossip swirling around Ceara lingering at his side to nurse him. But to run away from that didn't seem like her. "She would go through all that, just to escape a line of potential suitors?

"If you knew Caleb Godwin you'd understand," Masters nodded. "Helping you would also help our cause, in her mind. She's a brave one, despite whatever shook loose inside her from that attack, but if you decide to play the role she's offered don't even think to toy with her trust."

That solemn statement was clearly a warning which Aaron heartily resented. "Rest assured Mr. Masters, I have no intention of doing anything but recovering enough to leave this place, as soon as possible—"

"Now don't go gettin' offended," Masters huffed, "just try to see beyond your own needs and consider returning the favor extended to you—she's special, in case you've not noticed."

"I have noticed," Aaron assured him, surprised at his own candid manner with the man. He was truly not himself, ever since he'd stumbled into this county. After years of keeping a tight rein on his lips he found that somehow the desire had abandoned him. _I'm getting soft, sitting around here,_ he thought, _it must be the comforts of a home…_

Masters slapped his own knees and got up. Planting his hat upon his head, he raised a hand in farewell and strode toward the door. There he stopped and turned back. "Think on it—that's all I'm askin'," he grinned, leaving Aaron to stare after him in moody silence.

_**With the beginning strains of the closing hymn,**_ Caleb Godwin leaned toward Ceara, his bearded face split with a devilish grin.

"I hear you have a love interest," he whispered, ignoring Cecily's pinch on his arm and gazing down at baby Matthew, cradled in his aunt's arms. "Maybe this time next year you'll have your _own_ to keep you busy."

Ceara glared at him before throwing her sister an accusatory look. Cecily colored, looking exceedingly guilty. "You heard wrongly," she shot back in a whisper.

A chorus of disapproving whispers rose from the pew behind them and Ceara frowned. Her sister's beseeching look reminded her that once again she must forgive him. They were, after all, in church on the sabbath, making anger seem an even more grievous sin.

Caleb chuckled softly, directing his attention back toward the pulpit. Ceara studied his handsome profile, her suspicions heightened. Despite his obvious charm and upstanding reputation she sensed darker motives behind his success. There had always been something about him she had never liked but could not quite identify. She watched Cecily smile indulgently up at him as she snuggled against his side. Matthew cooed sweetly in her arms, so lifting him she kissed the sweet smelling down of his hair. His insult to her spinster status no longer bothered her when she considered the source. Yet she had to admit that somehow this man had made her sister happy in the two years they'd been married.

Deliriously happy, and for that she could not fault him.

The hymn ended and the preacher lifted his hands to indicate they should stand. The congregation rose to their feet and received the closing benediction as she bounced Matthew against her shoulder. Caleb wound an arm around his wife and guided her to turn and file toward the aisle, nodding in greeting to the more respectable members of the congregation. She stood aside and let them precede her toward the door, watching him smile and make a special effort to shake someone's hand or praise another's children. All the while Cecily held his arm, proud of the high social standing she'd regained in marring well. Ceara felt tempted to yield to her cynicism, wondering how much care and concern was truly genuine and how much was money based.

Cecily turned and reached for Matthew, whom Ceara handed back as they exited the meeting house and gazed up at the bright sky. She wound her cape around her shoulders, watching Caleb place Cecily's velvet cloak around her, shielding Matthew beneath. She lifted her velvet and lace hems and gazed up at Caleb as they descended the stairs together. Trailing along in their wake, Ceara sighed resignedly, painfully aware of how she paled in comparison to her fair, beautiful sister. All eyes were on the couple instead, save for a few suspicious and poisoned glances directed her own way.

"Caleb! I thought you were leaving for Boston with your father," Mr. Turner stopped them at his carriage, greeting Cecily but ignoring her. She took Matthew while Cecily climbed up into their coach, patting his back and watching the men exchange polite bows.

"I will be, but not until the 30th," Caleb answered, nodding to Cecily as she seated herself inside. "This time it will be for a fortnight," he stated, "though I cannot bear the thought of being away from my family that long."

"Then take us with you," Cecily suggested, blushing with pleasure at the attention she was receiving from both men. At that very moment Matthew burped loudly and Ceara smiled at the shock on both their faces.

She lifted him to kiss his cheek. "Well done, Matt!" she praised him, loving the sound of his laughter. He was such a good baby, thankfully never putting on airs. She much preferred his company to theirs, she thought with a barely suppressed laugh.

"Perhaps next time," Caleb answered his wife. "By then the weather should be improved and we will be staying in Hartford a bit longer."

With so many of his clients being Tories, Caleb's speeches in support of the patriot cause which he delivered among less lofty company irritated Ceara no end. Worse, Cecily supported him without question, and their arguments on the subject seemed to delight her husband. Their father had been an ardent patriot, unlike his privileged wife, after whom Cecily followed in manners and politics. Ceara remembered the tension in their parents' marriage, something Cecily did not or chose not to. Still, with a baby to keep safe, Ceara could not completely blame her sister for wanting to keep the peace, if peace was at all attainable. Now, listening to the direction of most of the conversations surrounding her, she breathed a whispered prayer for Matthew's safety and future. Just in case.

_**With John Masters' words lying heavily upon his heart,**_ Aaron tried not to stare at Ceara when she appeared at his door two days later. He was sitting in a chair by the window feeling restless and bored. His recuperation had not only been difficult physically, but staying in one place was something he had not done in years. The weather was fouling and he was counting the days until his meeting with Burke, yet when he looked and saw her smiling at him he was suddenly overcome with emotion. It was a combination of joy, grief, compassion and desire, and it struck him speechless. He held her animated gaze, shocked by how deeply her presence affected him. Warnings sounded in his mind and he felt something stir deep within his soul, against which he steeled himself and frowned.

"Betsy's got you up!" she said excitedly, twining her fingers together before her.

Today she looked more rested than he had ever seen her, her cheeks were flushed with a very becoming hint of rose. His gaze was drawn to her lips before he chastised himself and switched it up to her hair. Today she wore it bound in one long tail which draped over her left side, looking soft and revealing a blue sheen of highlights hidden in its glossy blackness.

"Where have you been?" he accused, shoving aside the voice within him that told him he'd missed her. "I've been sitting here for two hours waiting for a cane."

"Betsy's busy," she snapped, her eyes firing a dangerous blue flame. "We've an elderly couple who've just arrived and Mr. Masters only just summoned me to come help," she announced before darting back into the hall.

Muttering a curse upon himself, he pressed a hand to his head and vowed to apologize, if she ever came back. He knew she had a temper and it would not surprise him if she avoided him for the rest of the day, so with a great sigh of frustration he gripped the arms of his chair and slowly rose to a half standing position. The gesture caught like a pinch at his side but he forced himself to stretch higher as he slowly shuffled back toward the bed, wondering why his recovery was so tediously prolonged.

Her footsteps announced her arrival just as he managed to slide back against his pillows, and she marched toward him to stand a well worn cane against the bedpost. Without a word she picked up a feather duster and bustled about the room, her stiff posture and grim set of her lovely mouth speaking volumes of protest. He pursed his lips and picked up his book, unable to concentrate as she flitted about the room dusting every surface and moving on to the drapes. Despite her clear warning not to interrupt he couldn't seem to help himself.

"I'm sorry," he told her, snapping his book shut. He watched her bend to grasp the hem of the curtains and shake them, causing dust to shower the entire side of the room. Curious when she did not answer him or acknowledge his rare apology, he noted her troubled frown and somewhat distracted manner.

"Something wrong?" he asked quietly, surprised when she halted abruptly and turned from her dusting which, he realized no one had ever bothered with before.

She looked taken aback. "What do you mean?" she accused, her brows arching high.

He tilted his head to study her a moment. "You look…troubled about something."

She altered her expression so quickly that he wondered if he had imagined the previous one. "I'm fine!" she breathed gaily, her voice at a higher pitch than normal. "And you, dare I ask?"

He nodded slowly despite the fact that she had already resumed her dusting. "Better every day, thanks to you and Betsy."

She whipped a cloth from her apron and began dusting along the panes, and just as he was about to press the matter she strode out the door without so much as a sidelong glance in his direction. He listened to the sound of her lace up boots tap out the distance between his room and the kitchen, fading from his hearing. He sighed and opened his book once again, finding it difficult to center his attention upon what he was reading. In less than a two page turns he heard steps and looked up, pasting a smile upon his face.

She entered carrying a tray and without comment lowered it toward his lap, barely giving him enough time to set aside the book and grasp the edges. She turned with a flourish while he steadied the dishes sliding toward the edge and threatening to spill upon his bed. He glanced up to see her standing at attention, her gaze settling upon the bowl at the center of the tray. It emitted a musky, milky odor he found most unappealing. _Not again, _he thought with a sense of foreboding.

He looked up hesitantly. "Thank you, but I'm not hungry."

She pursed her lips momentarily and finally met his gaze. "Patients with abdominal wounds have similar problems which must be overcome," she stated. "To regain your strength you must eat, even if it means forcing yourself."

The salty scent and richness of the cream and butter assaulted his nostrils as his mind scrambled for a way to dispose of it as quickly as possible. She knew nothing about his food restrictions and tastes, even less about how often he was forced to scavenge for food from the wild. His died had been for the most part so basic that he had lost his ability to eat the richer fare to which most people were accustomed.

"My stomach will rebel," he defended, "you wouldn't want that…"

She frowned, looking momentarily puzzled. "At least try half."

He glanced down at what was surely seafood bisque, unable to prevent his grimace of distaste. "I think not."

"Do I have to spoon feed it to you?" she screeched, her voice sounding shaky to his hearing.

He glanced up. "I wouldn't suggest it."

With a huff of protest she lurched toward the tray, lifted it and promptly left. He closed his eyes, nearly groaning in frustration and knowing how badly he'd handled the situation. Before he could decide how to correct it she returned and repeated the procedure, this time with a plate of biscuits. He nearly groaned aloud at the butter swimming along the side of the plate, and before he could hide it she noticed his reaction.

"Perhaps I should bring the menu sir?" she said stiffly, crossing her arms at her waist. "Today we are proud to serve baked salmon and greens, as well as mashed potatoes and boiled turnips! Or perhaps you would prefer the mutton stew, or even better filet mignon!"

All this he watched with a mixture of regret and amusement as he set the plate onto the table. He leaned his head back against the pillows, studying her expression. "You seem unusually emphatic today," he stated in as bored a tone as he could manage.

She shifted her hands to her narrow hips. "And you seem to still suffer from a prolonged bout of stubbornness," she answered sweetly.

"It's a sign that I'm recovering my strength," he informed her. "You should be happy."

"I would be, were there not so much more improvement needed," she replied, coming closer. "You are still too pale and feverish, yet you continually refuse to eat what's good for you—"

"I'm afraid my appetite was a problem long before this particular confinement—"

"That is regrettable but we are not managing a restaurant here," she explained. "Yet even if we were I doubt we would cater to such a particular and disagreeable patron as yourself!"

"I doubt my fellow patients have yet to realize how hopelessly they have fallen under the rule of such a hysterical and unpredictable caretaker!" he shot back.

Her expression stalled at shock before he saw the hint of a slight twitch along her upper lip. He watched her expectantly, thinking she might actually laugh despite her foul mood. His heart leapt at the prospect, yet he had to admit he was becoming far too fond of her fiery personality.

"You, Lieutenant, could be a lot less moody and set in _your_ ways as well," she suggested calmly.

"I happen to be the one with the holes in my side," he quipped. "I have every reason to be moody, not to mention the fact that I'm forced to stay confined in such a dark, musty room."

He watched her brows lift prettily just before she turned and marched to the window. Studying the curve of her back he watched her reach up and fling back the drapes, causing him to flinch from the sudden appearance of the setting sun. Surely she was aware of the fact that he had not seen the full light of day for some time. He had to shield his eyes with his hand as he stared at her dark silhouette.

"Dark and musty?" she cried, shoving the window open to admit a blast of freezing air. She turned to face him, framed by the billowing curtains that lifted in the breeze. "Is this better?"

Still shielding his eyes, Aaron held his tongue as she came to stare down at him until he was able to lower his hand from his eyes. With a smug smile she turned and exited his room without further comment. He shifted his attention to the open window, pulling up his blankets to his chin. Realizing that he had not heard the sound of her steps moving back toward the kitchen, he turned his head toward the door and shouted to be heard over the whistling of the wind.

"Hullo!" he called, "I say, if you find Miss Connolly out there, could you please send her in?"

Waiting for a response, he heard none and chose to elaborate upon his request. "I much prefer her to the new nurse, who seems bereft of patience, understanding and good manners!"

She poked her head around the door, her gaze fiery. "Perhaps you would prefer being set outside to more fully enjoy the day," she said sweetly. "And for your information, there is now only one nurse here today. Betsy went home."

"You are not Miss Connelly," he insisted, looking toward the window.

"Neither are you Lieutenant Aaron, an officer with impeccable manners and stores of patient reserve!"

He turned his head back, narrowing his gaze upon hers. "You may regret teasing me, once I am able to get out of this bed more quickly," he warned with a dangerous smile.

"Is that a threat?" she breathed, laying a hand over her heart. "Judging by your refusal to cooperate I will have retired by then—yet for now I suppose I must forgive you for being the most difficult patient on the ward!"

He laughed cynically. "I wouldn't judge if I were you—now please, kindly close the window. It's freezing in here"

She turned a leisurely glance toward the window and back to his waiting gaze. "When you are ready to eat what has been graciously provided for dinner, just _shout_ at me again; until then you can just lie there and—"

"Do yourself a favor and close it, otherwise you'll be forced to treat me for frostbite in addition."

She glanced toward the billowing curtains and back. "Say please."

He tightened his jaw to keep his teeth from chattering, his eyes holding hers. "Please," he growled, averting his gaze toward the wall.

He heard the sound of her steps crossing to the window, resting his head back to stare up at the cracked ceiling. When she exited the room he expelled a sigh of frustration, his stomach burning with hunger. Calling himself ten different kinds of fool he let his gaze wander about the room before he saw it, lying on the table just within his reach. It was a small package, wrapped in brown paper and he reached for it. Lifting it to sniff at the pleasant nutty scent coming from within, he groaned with remorse and unwrapped it. Wanting to call her back but deciding against it, he studied the small red apple and thick slice of oat bread, wondering where she got it. Too hungry and ashamed over his behavior, he sensed that if he called for her she would ignore him, and rightly so. With his eyes on the door he bit into the bread and savored the delicious, plain taste, smiling despite himself.

_Another time, Miss Ceara,_ he promised them.

_c. 2008 by Christine Levitt_


	6. Chapter 6 Discharged

_**Chapter 6 Discharged**_

"She asked me to give you this," Betsy said carefully, extending the note toward him.

Glancing down at the plain folded paper square then back to her all-knowing gaze he detected a trace of humor in her expression. Reaching for it, he held her gaze. "Where has she been these past days?" he couldn't help asking. Their last encounter still plagued him with guilt, and her absence these past three days testified to the fact that he must have gone too far. Yet he had to admit she'd been more defensive than usual on that day.

Betsy glanced toward the hall before continuing. "It's the children," she whispered, eyeing him again with a secretive smile. "We've taken them in to live with us."

Surprised and pleased that Ceara had apparently acted on his request to help Faith and her brother, he nodded. "I appreciate your offering them shelter."

"But it's you who discovered them," she said with a wave of her hand. "Who knows how they might have fared the rest of winter in the barn, if they survived at all."

"Something tells me they would have," he sighed, leaning back in his chair. Over the past few days Masters had been getting him up to walk the corridors, an ordeal he found unduly tiring. His lingering weakness puzzled and shamed him, but he was determined to recover his strength before the meeting with Burke. Otherwise he would be promptly dismissed from service.

"You might be right about that after all," Betsy stated, "for they've proven to be quite set in their ways, especially the boy."

"Paulie? How so?"

She planted her fists upon her hips and shook her head. "Now that he's back in the company of other boys his mischievous side has shown itself. He's given Ceara quite a challenge of late."

Recalling her foul mood at their last encounter, Aaron wondered if he had misjudged the reason. This brought him a strange sense of relief, if only for his own sake. "She finds childrearing difficult?" he asked despite his own doubts. From what little he knew of her, she would be perfect in the role.

"Not difficult, but enticing!" she laughed under her breath. "It's brought out her own mischievous side—sometimes I think Faith is more grown up that Ceara!"

"Are you saying that Miss Connolly's behavior is worse than Paulie's?" Aaron chuckled.

"No, but she does find the disciplining part an effort…I think it is just her way of grieving her younger brothers."

He sobered instantly. "She still misses them."

Betsy nodded and sighed with resignation. "Well then, I've got a few things to attend to before the church ladies bring today's meals."

"Church ladies?" he repeated. "I hadn't noticed any visitors at all."

"They sneak around just to avoid you, deserter that you are," she teased. "Be glad you're safe, though, for they're in stiff competition with each other and question us mercilessly regarding your evaluation of the food."

Aaron felt himself blanch with shame, for all he had done was complain about it. "All this time I thought you and Miss Connelly were preparing the food."

She snorted with laughter. "Hardly—neither of us can cook, at least not like these ladies."

Feeling a stab of guilt at what was apparently good intentioned charity, he winced. "I think I owe you both an apology, as well as your ladies."

"Whatever for? You've been our best patient yet!"

"The food—" he groaned, "I wouldn't eat much of it: too rich for my taste."

"But it is rich, ridiculously so! They are competing for gourmet status, when we're all just simple country folk. We pick at it ourselves, save for Mrs. Miller's cooking."

"Then who are they trying to impress?"

She leaned closer, her eyes shooting toward the door. "It's Dr. Koch they try to impress—he is on the elder board you see. None of it is very Christian if you ask me."

"I see," he answered, shifting in his chair. "I did rather enjoy a delicious oat bread the other day, simple but very satisfying."

Betsy drew back and eyed him suspiciously. "That's what Ceara usually eats—she must have given you her lunch instead, God bless her."

Aaron felt the weight of his guilt increase. "Then I do owe her an apology," he said, slowly rising from his chair. "Perhaps you might deliver an apology note to her?"

"Don't trouble yourself—she likes you," Betsy assured him. "And she would never consider sharing her food as a sacrifice."

He slowly closed the drawer of the table, paper in hand. "I thought you said she didn't cook?"

"Not fancy gravies and soups, but she is a very good baker," she told him, moving toward the door. "I think I hear a carriage coming, so I will leave you to your note for now."

He tapped the paper onto the tabletop. "Declare a winner in the competition..."

She paused at the door, her expression puzzled. "What do you mean?"

"The cooking competition—have Dr. Koch declare the winner, and thus end it."

Her face lit with inspiration. "That's an excellent idea! I'll speak to him about it tonight."

He pulled up the chair and nodded. "Thank you, Miss Baldwin."

"I told you before—call me Betsy."

When she was gone he took out Ceara's note and unfolded it, breaking the small seal. His eyes scanned the contents, noting her small, neat handwriting:

_I pray that you will forgive me for my bad temper of late…it truly has nothing to do with you but concerns a matter which endures too long and costs me my patience. I deeply regret my actions and words, neither of which were charitable or professional._

_ If you liked the bread I will be happy to supply you with more..._

Aaron looked up, smiling to himself. The fact that she had not addressed or signed it only added to its intimate quality, and he was deeply touched by her writing it. Suddenly inspired, he sat carefully and reached for pen and ink, taking a moment to stare at the blank paper before him. Reminding himself that this was not his typical form of correspondence, he gathered his thoughts and began to formulate his answer.

_**"What's this?" Dr. Koch demanded **_several hours later, his gaze traveling along the crowded counter space and full table. Everywhere he looked there were baskets and wrapped loaves, pans and bowls all emitting a fragrance which blended to smell like a bakery.

Betsy glanced up from the cutting board. "The latest competition," she said, nodding toward the one wrapped in an embroidered cover. "The proposed winner is the one in the center, wrapped in the pretty tea towel."

"I thought we were through with this nonsense," he sighed, reaching for the note pinned to its corner. He scanned its one lined endorsement with a smirk.

"Only the main course category," Betsy told him. "We've now moved on to the baked goods category."

"'Undoubtedly the best, in my humble opinion,'" he read aloud, holding aloft the note. "Who wrote this?"

Betsy laughed with glee. "Our esteemed guest, as if you didn't know."

"This proves that it's time to transfer him to home care," he scowled, lifting the towel and snatching up a slice of what appeared to be cranberry bread. "He's obviously bored to tears to involve himself in such affairs…let's have a taste then."

Betsy wiped her hands and watched him eat it with obvious pleasure. "May I ask why the sudden change in plan from transferring him to Boston?"

"That doesn't happen for two more days and you know it," he grumbled, gesturing toward the remainder of the bread. "This is very good…who made it?"

"That must be kept secret until the other judges decide," she warned. "They will be coming in throughout the day to make their decisions."

"I'm having the next contest moved to the meetinghouse instead," he declared. "One cannot think clearly with all these mouthwatering aromas vying for one's attention. By the way, has someone collected the previous foods to distribute to the poor?"

Betsy nodded. "Mrs. White saw to it and nothing has been wasted."

"Good—well I suppose I will choose this one," he agreed, tearing a notch from the paper next to the one Aaron had made, thus adding his vote. "I haven't the time to try the others."

"He only tried a few, and very small pieces unlike the one you just devoured," she protested.

Dr. Koch nodded toward the direction of Aaron's room. "He's has the time to do it for me. Now I'm off to examine him and if things look good I'll discharge him today, but only to home care. See if you can check the list for a suitable host family—"

"I'll take him home with me," she offered with a shrug. "I've had a busy day."

"All right, but just until Masters comes back to pick him up…you have room, with your other guests?"

"It's a big house and the children will keep him from being bored, as well as depressed about his fate."

"He's headed to a suitable enough prison," Dr. Koch stated. "I know the physician who oversees the conditions and he is bold enough to challenge the authorities should he see anything amiss."

"Maybe Masters can win him over to our side on the way," Betsy said hopefully. "That is what we are praying."

Dr. Koch shrugged. "That is entirely up to him, and I commend you all for attempting to do so…would Miss Connolly welcome his coming to your home?"

"She will be glad for his help with Paulie," she sighed. "That boy needs a man's guiding hand, to be sure."

Dr. Koch straightened abruptly. "He'll no doubt rise to the task in mind and spirit, but don't tax him in body. For an officer he's been poorly nourished, quite unlike anything I've seen before."

"We will fatten him up and watch over him close enough," she predicted.

"Make sure he enjoys his last few days of freedom," he advised. "Though I do wonder why he seems so eager to leave, headed where he is going."

She smiled sweetly. "That's none of our concern."

"Thank the good Lord it's not," he agreed. "But be sure you chaperone, Miss Baldwin," he said, leaning closer. "We don't want tongues wagging when people see how he and Miss Connolly look at each other; makes one hope he'll join our side, even if only for her influence."

"You are a romantic, Doctor," she teased. "I've hoped that myself. People might talk, but with the children present it should not cause too much concern."

"Good—why don't you find him some proper clothes from our collection?" he suggested, turning to leave. "I'll evaluate his status and release him to your care, then. After that I've got to leave: my wife expects me home tonight."

"Well I wouldn't want to interfere with that!" Betsy gushed, smiling when she saw his color rise. He saluted her and left for his patient's room.

_**Ceara paused, hearing the sound of an approaching wagon**_. Paulie tightened his grip around her neck as she stretched toward the window to peek out. Blowing a feather out of her eye, she gasped in surprise at the sight of John Master's wagon pulling up. Even more surprising was the sight of the man seated next to him, one arm curled around his wounded side. They lurched to a stop and she saw Betsy get to her feet.

_Aaron…coming here? What was Betsy thinking?  
_  
"Who is it?" Paulie demanded, squirming in her hold. "Lieutenant Aaron!" he gasped, releasing her neck and jumping to the floor. "He's come for a visit—Faith!"

Ceara snatched the headband from her hair and whirled to face the kitchen. Faith stood there with a shocked look on her face, which was splotched with flour. She held a mixing bowl in the crook of her arm and looked upset.

"Miss Baldwin is home already?" she squeaked in horror. "But I haven't gotten lunch ready!"

"And she's brought the lieutenant—Paulie, go help them while I change!" Ceara ordered in a whisper, rushing to snatch up her discarded apron. _If he ever sees me like this—_

"Something's burning!" Faith screeched, turning to run back into the kitchen. "Help, Ceara!"

_**Aaron forced himself to straighten to his full height**_ despite his sore back and side from having his stitches removed. He threw Masters an irritated look as the older man whistled tunelessly, nodding toward the sky from his perch on the floorboards of the porch.

"You've got yourself a beautiful, mild wintry day to come back to the world," Masters drawled, turning his attention back to Betsy, who gazed up at him as if he were a dolt.

"What are you waiting for, the butler?" she complained to both of them, stepping between them and shoving open the door. "I'm home," she called out. "And I've brought company!"

As the door opened Aaron noted several things at once from where he hesitated at Master's side. A small Indian brave stood proudly at attention by the door, staring up at them despite the feminine screams of laughter and horror coming from deeper within the house. The distinct odor of burning food wafted toward them, making both men frown.

"Welcome to our longhouse!" Paulie stated proudly, lunging for Aaron's arm. "Want to play Indians with Ceara and me?"

"Indians?" Aaron repeated, resisting his surprisingly strong grip. He had to duck his head to avoid hitting it and forced Paulie to slow down from dragging him inside. Betsy tossed her bag onto the table and rushed toward the kitchen without as much as a backward glance. Aaron looked down to meet Paulie's gleeful smile. "Is that elk I smell burning?" he asked dryly.

Paulie giggled and pulled him toward the table. "Sit at the head—though lunch might take longer than we want it to."

He glanced suspiciously at Masters, who stood observing their interaction with obvious interest. "You could come to my place instead," he offered as though prompted to do so. "I doubt you'll get much rest in this madhouse," he said, grinning at Paulie. "Right, young sir?"

Aaron directed his attention back to the kitchen, where he caught a glimpse of Ceara rushing out the back door with a smoking platter. He smiled despite his tendency to think Masters was right. "No offense, John," he answered, "but this is far too curious an invitation to decline."

Masters shrugged and turned to leave. "It's your health," he warned.

"Are you going to live with us?" Paulie wanted to know as he ignored Masters.

Aaron looked down into his eager expression. "Just a day or two."

"I am off to the general store for supplies," Masters announced.

"If they give up on cooking meat we'll still have good food," Paulie soothed, glancing worriedly toward the kitchen.

"Make sure your houseguest gets some peace and quiet," Masters told Paulie. "He will require your aid in that regard."

"Yes sir," Paulie stated with sudden seriousness. "No more Indian games, for now."

"Aren't there other boys to join in?" Aaron asked, slowly lowering himself to the chair at the place indicated.

Paulie's face brightened. "Yes, but afterwards. Ceara—I mean Miss Connolly—was just playing with me until I can go over to Lucas' house after lunch."

As if summoned Ceara made an appearance, having donned a large white apron over her Indian leggings and tunic. Aaron noted the spot of flour on one cheek as she smoothed her hair back around one loosened braid. She smiled radiantly and dipped into a slight curtsy as her eyes moved to Mr. Masters, who for some reason still lingered at the door.

"This is a pleasant surprise," she said breathlessly, moving to Aaron's side and redirecting her attention to him. "Dr. Koch has finally discharged you, then?"

"I hope I'm not intruding," he said guardedly, deciding her liked her disheveled appearance even more than the prim and proper Miss Connelly's. "I wouldn't want to disrupt tribal negotiations."

She held his gaze a moment before turning her attention to Masters. "Are you staying for lunch, Mr. Masters?"

He chuckled and tipped his hat. "Thank you, no—I'll be back for Miss Baldwin later."

Her smile faltered a bit but she planted a hand upon Paulie's shoulder. "Take Lieutenant Aaron's bag to the guest room, will you Paulie?"

He frowned up at her. "But that's my room," he whispered.

Turning him away she bent toward his ear. "You'll have to move back in with your sister for now," Aaron heard her whisper. "Just until we get the loft ready for you."

"The loft?" he gasped in delight. This set him in motion, Aaron saw as Paulie snatched up his borrowed pack and rushed off toward the room at the other side of the house.

"Good day for now," Masters called good naturedly, letting himself out. Aaron nodded to him, watching Paulie push open a door and disappear into the room. He caught a glimpse of a brightly painted room where sunlight streamed in through a small window. Glancing back to Ceara's expectant look, he pursed his lips, watching her brow crinkle with confusion.

"I do not wish to disrupt your home," he said quietly, holding her gaze. At that moment Betsy called her name from the kitchen but she smiled mischievously.

"Considering its present state, I doubt you could," she breathed, rushing off toward the kitchen.

Aaron stared after her, feeling unsettled from both her nearness and the incredible blue of her eyes. Hearing three female voices scream in mock horror he was struck with a pang of loneliness, suddenly missing his mother and sister, not as they were when he last saw them, but from years before, in happier times. Hearing Paulie's footsteps he turned his attention back to the present and Ceara's parting words. Feeling up for the challenge, he glanced back toward the kitchen and smiled.

_We shall see about that, _he whispered, eager for another glimpse of her.

_c. 2008 by Christine Levitt_


	7. Chapter 7 The Haircut

_**Chapter 7 The Haircut**_

_**"Dr. Koch, perhaps you might quell the rumors**_ concerning the identity of one of your patients," Caleb drawled. Cecily looked up from her dessert and met his gaze, aware of his fingers lazily twirling his wineglass by its stem. One quick glance in the doctor's direction told her that Caleb had offended him, yet the older man hid it by raising his napkin to his lips and gently patting them. Yet he met Caleb's stare without flinching or looking away, giving her the feeling that Caleb might have just met his match.

"Since when do we care about rumors?" she gushed with a nonchalant smile, hoping to fill the void in conversation and cover up her husband's boldness. So far it had been a pleasant evening, despite Caleb's objection to her inviting the older couple for dinner. Unlike her husband she found them quite interesting and enjoyed their company. Over the past few years she had exchanged conversation with Dr. Koch when visiting Ceara at work and had always found him polite and intelligent. The rumors about his passionate love for his wife even after 20 years of marriage was something she hoped to expose her husband to and investigate herself.

To her dismay Caleb's gaze bored into the doctor's despite her attempted dismissal of the subject. However his smile curved his handsome mouth as he defended his position. "Rumors which become the subject of an upcoming town meeting are unfortunately of some concern," he said casually, reaching for her hand. She let him take it despite her irritation with him, and as if sensing her disapproval he turned to search her eyes for the reason.

"Surely you are aware of the necessity for confidentiality between patient and doctor," Dr. Koch stated, dropping his napkin to his plate and glancing at his wife. "Rumor or no rumor."

"He's right," Stephanie Koch smiled at him before glancing at Cecily. "But with all the news lately, people are a bit on edge."

"Understandably so," Caleb agreed, reaching for the decanter to pour her another glass despite her hushed objections. Dr. Koch spread a hand over his half empty glass, causing Caleb to pour Cecily and himself a refill. "It is not every day we hear of four British soldiers found frozen to death up north—"

"Caleb honestly—" Cecily objected with a tense smile of apology to their guests, "we must not spoil a very lovely evening with such talk."

"It's all right," Dr. Koch assured her, nodding toward Caleb. "I can imagine how people wish to know if my patient shared any relationship with those poor souls."

Caleb nodded gallantly toward him. "The appearance of any stranger would prompt the same."

"I doubt that very much, but I sure the matter is being investigated as we speak," Dr. Koch said with a shrug; "that is all we need to know for now."

Caleb leaned forward. "If your patient is indeed a deserter, his presence could very well attract the more undesirable elements of society to our environs, hence the reason for my concern."

Dr. Koch threaded his fingers over his stomach. "We have our own authorities to handle that. As for me, I do my required paperwork and report what I must, yet my main concern has to be tending to the wounded and ill," he explained. "And frankly that is all anyone needs to know concerning me _or_ my patients."

Caleb tapped a finger into the silk tablecloth. "Then we had better pray he recovers and leaves before the bounty hunters appear looking for such treasure," he challenged. "You wouldn't want them to suddenly appear at the infirmary doors and frighten poor Miss Baldwin, not to mention dear Ceara..."

Cecily kicked him beneath the table as she laid her hands over the tablecloth. "I am sure Dr. Koch knows what he is doing, dear," she said sweetly. "And Ceara and Betsy can handle themselves should such an event occur."

Mrs. Koch smiled eagerly at her, leaning close. "Is it true that your sister is the best shot in her age group?" she asked in a hushed tone, obviously hoping to redirect their conversation. "Including the young men?"

Cecily nodded, glancing at the twinkle in Dr. Koch's eye as he looked at his wife. "She would probably have won the men's prize if they failed to discover she was a girl before she could prove it."

"So it is true that she dresses as a boy in order to compete?" Stephanie chuckled with pleasure.

"Yes, I'm afraid so," Cecily agreed, glancing at Caleb's profile. "But now they keep close scrutiny on the entrants. So you see, Ceara is very able to defend herself, though I love my husband for being concerned for her welfare."

Stephanie glanced knowingly at her husband, but Dr. Koch nodded politely. "Miss Connolly is quite able to defend herself, and is a dedicated patriot as well," he stated, glancing at Caleb. "Had our patient posed any threat despite his wounds, she would have personally seen to it that he was turned over to the proper authorities. She of all people can spot a deserter better than anyone else."

"That's quite true," Cecily chuckled, having abruptly dismissed Ceara's statements about her patient being a deserter. She knew her sister had only said them to cut off her interfering in her hunt for a husband. "Were that man truly a deserter she would have already seen him escorted from the area, and without waiting for the proper authorities, I'm afraid."

Caleb smirked and swung his gaze back to the doctor. "Such matters should not be left to women," he said cynically. "And we must consider one very important matter which no one has yet mentioned—why a group of Regulars would be in this area in the first place, even more importantly traveling unsupervised."

"That does seem strange," Dr. Koch agreed. "Such things do not occur in the British Army, at least not on a regular basis. One is left to wonder about the fate of their commander."

"How can you not wish to question him, then?" Caleb urged.

"My patient is nothing more than a patient until proven otherwise," Dr. Koch insisted. "Should the constable wish to question him he may at any time, but as for the rest of us, we should allow him his privacy in convalescence."

"The man was found wounded in John Master's barn," Cecily stated, repeating another rumor. "Even he has seen fit not to ask or divulge the man's identify."

"I will say that I have filed for his transfer to Boston, and he has not argued with that fate," Dr. Koch said dryly. "That is all any of us need to know."

Caleb leaned back in his chair. "Good, then…my own theory is that he was part of their queue and tried to stop them from deserting, which would explain his being injured during the argument. They obviously won."

"Interesting theory," Dr. Koch shrugged. "You could be right."

"I think Ceara is doing her best to convince him to join the rebel cause," Cecily breathed, glancing at Stephanie. "She can be very convincing, when she sets her mind to a task."

"Your sister is first and foremost his nurse," Dr. Koch defended Ceara. "And she knows better than to use her position to influence our patients."

"I find it strange that despite her animosity for men, we have seen little of her since his arrival," Caleb drawled, holding Cecily's glare. "Perhaps you had better make sure she is not doing exactly that, Doctor."

"Are you insinuating that Ceara is recruiting the man?" she gasped, glancing nervously at Dr. Koch, who only waved a hand in dismissal and pushed back his chair.

"I think, Mr. Godwin that you and your sister-in-law should have a little chat on that subject and perhaps settle things privately."

Cecily threw down her napkin and got up, avoiding looking at Caleb. "I apologize for the way this evening has turned out," she said, feeling close to tears. "Dr. Koch, and Stephanie, I only hope that you will keep the former part of our evening in mind, rather than the latter."

Stephanie rose and put an arm around Cecily. "We have enjoyed it immensely," she stated, glancing at Caleb as he too stood. "Your husband is very keen and intelligent, so I think we can tolerate a bit of heated discussion, can we not dear?" she said, looking at her husband.

Dr. Koch nodded. "Of course, no offense taken; I admire your sister a great deal, Cecily, both as a nurse and an intelligent young woman."

"I should like to meet your sister, and perhaps we might return the favor and have all three of you to our house for dinner," Stephanie added, tightening her grip on Cecily's arm "It would mean a great deal to us."

Cecily nodded and put a hand over Stephanie's. "I appreciate your offer, thank you."

"Forgive me," Caleb stated, extending his hand to Dr. Koch. "I did not mean to judge your management of the infirmary, but rather only to voice a concern I am not alone in sharing."

Dr. Koch shook his hand briefly. "I understand; we hardly welcome bounty hunters coming anywhere near here."

"I have already taken the matter into consideration by hiring a few men, just for added protection," Caleb said conspiratorially, glancing at Cecily. "Though my wife objects to the violation of her privacy."

Cecily huffed in annoyance. "I know it is for our protection, but really Caleb, guards are usually positioned outside a garrison, not an estate. We may as well move to Boston or New York, if that is to be our situation."

Stephanie leaned closer to Cecily, her eyes moving to Caleb. "He's just demonstrating how very much he loves you," she said as if Caleb could not hear them. At his broad smile, she grinned. "And don't forget your precious baby, sleeping undisturbed upstairs."

"No," Cecily agreed, her troubled expression evening out. As Caleb's eyes met hers she saw the love in their depths. "I know that is what he is thinking of."

_**Aaron woke suddenly,**_ startled by the wonderful scent of something baking. He sniffed, his mouth watering. Blinking twice, he noted the soft sound of singing off in the distance and stared at the strong light pouring in through the curtains. Lifting his head from the faintly lavender scented pillow, he dug an elbow into the soft mattress and turned his head to study the pleasantly feminine room. Then he remembered where he was.

Slowly putting a hand to his side he probed it gently, both front and back. The tenderness to his abdomen was greatly reduced and his back was healing quickly, though it was still quite tender. Sliding his legs up and from beneath the tangled blankets, he draped them over the side and touched the floor with his feet. With a slow and deep breath he managed to rise but gripped the bedpost for support. The slight feeling of lightheadedness passed quickly, leaving him to ponder his next move.

Noting the clean clothing left inside the small half-opened closet, he pulled off his nightshirt and gingerly dressed himself, finally glancing into the small mirror above the bureau. Tacked over it was a small spray of evergreen and dried berries, which he pictured Ceara placing there. Shaking his head at his own lapse into sentimentality, he stared at his flushed and whiskered cheeks and the long waves of his hair that were in desperate need of trimming. Beyond his door he heard Faith's animated voice interrupt the singing, then the lower, husky tone of Ceara's voice joined hers. He was unable to discern their conversation, distracted by the sounds of children playing outside, as well as the call of one neighbor to another. He raised his brows, feeling the weight of his predicament grow heaver by the moment.

No longer hidden away on the outskirts of town, he was now right in its midst, among civilians. How could he remain hidden another two days, when Burke would come for him? Running a hand over his whiskers he looked into his own empty stare, sighing with resignation and uncharacteristic indecision.

Something hit the window and he flinched, turning abruptly to look across the room. A crystalline mound of snow slid slowly down its surface as footsteps rushed toward the house. Moving cautiously toward it, he peered out from the edge and saw a group of boys just below his window, Paulie's voice ringing out.

"Tommy Baker, get away from my house!" he yelled as Aaron ducked back out of sight, though he thought the boys too short to look in and see him standing there.

"It's not your house!"

Aaron heard their steps pound around to the front of the house and fists upon the front door. "Is too—Miss Betsy took us in and there's nothin' you can do about it! Now git away—"

"Boys, boys!" Betsy's voice rang out, overpowering theirs. "Go play in the common—we've got work to do and you're preventing us from baking cookies!"

There was an abrupt silence and Aaron chuckled softly as he moved away from his window. "Can we have some, please?" he heard a chorus of voices chant.

"Only if you do as I say, and don't come back till 4!"

There was a scampering of boots and yells of joy as the mob ran away, leaving a pleasant muted silence in their wake. He heard the outer door close and Faith's soft apology. Reaching for the latch he opened his own door, stepping into the threshold and finding three sets of eyes snap to his.

"—just being a boy—"

"We underst—"

"Oh—you're up!" Ceara finished breathlessly, laying a hand over her chest.

Aaron felt the jolt of awareness shoot through his length as her stunningly blue eyes locked with his. Something deep inside him flipped over, as if a huge rock were turned to expose all sorts of hidden life as it awoke to the light. Whereas before he would have immediately stomped out any spark of interest he might feel for the fairer sex, this time he found he hadn't the strength...nor the will.

Betsy turned to stare at Ceara, then to Faith's wide eyed stare. This, he noted, also shot to Ceara's profile as they all stood waiting for her to say something. He slid his gaze back to hers and almost felt her swallow of nervousness. Her lips parted but she seemed strangely unable to speak. This pleased him a great deal, though he knew he should not be responding to her in that manner.

"I see snowball fights are still popular among boys," he said quietly, lifting a hand to massage the back of his neck and realizing he must have slept with his head in a crooked position. The stiffness and pain in his muscles made him move with great caution.

"They woke you—" Faith complained, her pretty young face crinkling with regret. "I'm so sorry, Lieu—"

"Aaron," Ceara corrected, finally finding her voice as the corners of her lovely lips curled upward.

He stared at her mouth, hearing Faith's soft giggle. "_Mr._ Aaron."

Betsy planted a hand on Ceara's shoulder and gripped Faith's arm. "We need to get to the oven before we burn the house down!" she reminded her, glancing at him with a knowing smile as she escorted the girl from the room, leaving Ceara standing immobile in its epicenter.

"I was awake before that," he assured them, holding Ceara's gaze.

She looked even lovelier today, he thought distractedly. Her hair was softer, not as tightly bound. Her sleeves were rolled up to the elbows to reveal graceful forearms and wrists normally hidden beneath her serviceable work clothes. A large canvas apron covered her from bodice to well below the knees, and it was splattered with what looked like brown puffs of powder, reminding him of the tantalizing fragrance filling the house.

"Some wonderful fragrance drew me up from the depths of a deep sleep," he finally finished, trying not to stare at her pleased smile and how beautifully it lit up her face and made her eyes sparkle.

"Cinnamon bread," she explained softly, nodding toward the table. "Would you like some?"

He leaned against the door and smiled back. "Is it as good as it smells?"

She dipped into a tiny curtsy. "You'll have to be the judge," she said politely, sweeping her hand toward the chair at the head of the table. "Have a seat and I'll bring you some.'

He smiled despite the memory of her fear and hatred for men, directed at him only days before. Cursing the men who had attacked her, he hid his feelings and pulled away from the door to make his way to the table. "Thank you, I will," he answered, not liking the way she stepped backward as he came closer.

"You look pale still—" she observed, her expression troubled.

"I'm fine," he warned, not liking their lapse into patient and nurse again. But she followed close behind him and he could feel her critical gaze upon him as he neared the table.

"You move stiffly and you slept half the day."

"I haven't slept in weeks—"

"—which indicates an incomplete recovery—"

"The bed was more comfortable than the infirmary's—"

"And you look a bit feverish—"

He swung his head around to hold her look of concern. "Swamp fever," he explained blandly. "Now if you don't mind—"

"Swamp fever!" she exclaimed, throwing her hands wide. "Why didn't you _tell _us you suffered from that?"

"I forgot—"

"'Forgot?' How could one forget that? It lasts for weeks, sometimes years—"

"I said I'm fine—" he said, stopping abruptly so that she stumbled into him. Planting her hands upon his chest to keep her balance, she stared up at him a he gripped her shoulders with both hands. For a moment they stared into each other's eyes and then, to his astonishment, he watched her gaze move to his lips and hold. Something melted in his heart in that moment, but he could not acknowledge it.

"Steady," he said softly, loosening his hold on her at the same moment she snatched back her hands.

Her eyes shot to his. "I'm sorry—"

Aaron felt desire leap to life within him, having awakened suddenly after years of dormancy. With great effort he clenched his hands at his sides as she wrung her hands before him. At that moment Faith hurried in with a small tray.

"I've brought you some porridge and coffee as well," she said happily, her steps slowing as she saw them standing close. Her eyes met his as her smile brightened. "Come sit at the head."

He nodded to Ceara and moved to take the place indicated, slowly pulling out the chair as he looked back at her. Having recovered from what seemed to be shocked surprise, she smoothed her features into a calm mask and nodded to him.

"It's fine," she agreed. "A man should take the head of the table; I'm sure Paulie won't mind yielding to you."

He sat stiffly as Faith unloaded the tray and stood back to study him. Looking up into her teasing smile, he stared back. "What?"

She chuckled softly and pushed the mug toward him. "Black or with cream?"

He frowned but edged closer to the table, drawn by the fragrance of the coffee. His stomach burned with hunger, though it was his accustomed state. "Black."

Faith looked up at Ceara who pulled out the chair next to him and ordered his next move. "Try the bread first."

He swallowed a gulp of coffee and frowned into the steam. "Yes sir."

Ignoring Faith's giggle as she pushed the small crock of butter toward him, he looked up at Ceara.

"I'm glad you recognize who is in charge here," she said with a tiny smile.

He let Faith place a thick slice of the rolled bread on his plate but put up a hand at the butter. "Plain, if you don't mind."

Faith placed a bowl of porridge at his side and pulled out her chair. He popped a piece of bread in his mouth and sighed with pleasure at the taste. It was still warm and held the perfect combination of cinnamon-sugar, nuts and salt. Not too sweet. Aware of them watching him like birds of prey he leaned back and swallowed.

"Though I've dined alone for far too long and normally enjoy your company, I'd rather not have an audience," he stated, turning to note how Faith threw her head back and clapped her hands with glee.

Ceara snatched up a piece herself. "We'll join you then."

He took another swallow of hot, strong coffee and decided it was just the way he liked it, hot and strong. Faith was near quiet hysterics though he had no idea why. He met Ceara's gaze and nodded toward the girl. "What seems to be so amusing?" he complained.

This triggered off more quiet hysterics as Faith got up to stand over him, her hands covering her mouth as if to hold in her laughter. "You're so funny!" she gasped between giggles.

"What did I do?" he demanded. "I'm only trying to eat a meal in peace."

She pointed to his head. "Your hair," she chuckled, dabbing at her eyes, "and the way you pretend to be grumpy!"

"I am grumpy," he growled, ducking his head to slurp his coffee.

"You'll feel better after a shave and a haircut," Ceara offered, trying to keep from laughing.

He reached for another piece of bread. "I am hardly at liberty to visit a barber."

She reached up to smooth down a piece of hair which apparently had been standing straight up. "I usually do haircuts at the infirmary every Monday, but since you've been transferred here—"

"Transferred? I thought I was an invited guest—"

"I suppose I'll have to do it under these conditions," she sighed, getting up and moving toward the cupboard to his right.

"What 'conditions'?" he wanted to know, glancing at Faith who, he noticed, had abruptly stopped laughing at him and was watching their interaction with great interest as she leaned into the chair before her.

He looked back at Ceara just in time to catch her mischievous grin. "Why you're our prisoner, of course," she said dramatically, an evil smile upon her face.

Faith giggled again as he turned in his chair to face her. "Prisoner? If this is some kind of a joke I'm not laughing—"

"Of course it is!" Ceara chuckled, pulling out a leather case and coming to stand next to Faith. "Teasing is an important part of the recovery process, in case you hadn't realized."

He pursed his lips and reached for the porridge. "I prefer the standard methods of care, thank you very much."

"Don't you know the Scripture, "a joyful heart is good medicine"?" Faith laughed, her eyes glowing with pleasure as she glanced at Ceara.

He swallowed the thick, nutty flavored porridge without looking up. "I don't believe I've heard that one."

"Papa used to quote it all the time," Faith said, her voice trailing off as she turned and picked up the tray.

Aaron met Ceara's troubled glance as she set out razor and scissors. "Still no word from him?" she said, her gaze shifting back to Faith.

"No, not yet," Faith said bravely, forcing a smile. "But he will come back for us, I just know it."

Aaron nodded in understanding before she excused herself to check on whatever was being prepared in the kitchen.

"I am sure he will," he heard Ceara reply softly. Sensing his regard, she straightened and smiled. "Well, why don't you finish up and then I'll be happy to trim your hair and give you a shave—"

"I can do it myself," he refused, immediately regretting his abruptness. "It will help me feel somewhat useful," he added more considerately.

She nodded, her eyes lifting to his hair again. "I do think you need help with your hair, Lieutenant."

He grimaced, feeling inordinately uncomfortable with the thought of her cutting his hair. It was far too intimate a task for her to do for him, one he was tempted to allow just for curiosity's sake nevertheless.

"You cannot win this argument," she said primly, "I insist—but if it helps, think of that upcoming meeting with your captain, if only for his sake."

"All right," he groaned, lifting his cup and holding it so that the steam curled pleasantly up into his nostrils. "For Burke's sake."

_**Cecily wrapped the baby snugly**_ and slipped out the door, nodding to her driver.

"To my sister's house, Mr. Stevens," she requested, taking his proffered hand. Grasping it tightly, she climbed up into the carriage, smiling her thanks.

"Bundle up warm, Miss," the elderly servant urged as he glanced fondly at Baby Matthew. She could see the twinkle in is eyes as he locked them in and turned to climb up himself. Settling back into the seat she pulled the lap rug over her knees and glanced out the window at the bright late morning sun. She had bribed the man earlier that morning, just after Caleb rode away for the day to visit a client in the next county. It had been before dawn but she was always up to feed the baby, as was Mr. Stevens. Not knowing how he had managed it, she nevertheless breathed a sigh of relief that her two bodyguards were noticeably absent. And she was sure they were off fulfilling some distant task at Mr. Stevens' bidding.

They started off and Matthew giggled, as he took great delight in any kind of outing. Touching the tip of his pert little nose she hugged him closer and gazed out at the passing countryside, almost as glad to be out of the house as he. The snow was melting beneath the bright sun, though she knew winter was far from over. As she counted the months till spring her thoughts wandered again to last night's failed dinner. Not letting Caleb's churlishness bother her, she concentrated on the day ahead and tried to be optimistic concerning the future. But she did want to warn Ceara about what she had learned concerning the dead soldiers, praying that no others would venture into their part of the world again. The war was moving south, Caleb had declared, and for that they must all be hopeful.

She thought of her husband traveling alone to the Barnes estate, feeling a bit wistful about the fact that Matthew was still a bit young to take that far away, especially in winter. Maybe by spring she could accompany Caleb on his next business trip and take the baby along. It would distract Caleb from his responsibility to find a suitor for Ceara, though the Barnes family had no eligible relatives her age to match her sister. Perhaps she should invite Ceara for dinner again, sans suitors. Maybe then she and Caleb could enjoy a peaceful dinner without all the pressure of that particular task.

It was too bad the two people she loved most in the world, save dear Matthew, could just not seem to get along. Though Caleb's wit and charm helped his success in business, she wished he would be a little less so regarding her sister. He always seemed to try to impress her but had never taken the time to really get to know her. Cecily knew that women like Ceara threatened men, and compared to her older sister she seemed compliant and subservient. But she loved Caleb, and loved having him provide for her. Though she envied Ceara's freedom, she knew that her sister secretly longed for the protection and love of a husband, despite her behavior toward Caleb's chosen suitors. For that reason she had finally decided to step in herself, without Caleb's help. Sighing with frustration, she had to admit that it was not going to be easy.

_**  
**__**Gently working the lather through his hair,**_ Ceara massaged his scalp, trying to ignore the change in Aaron's demeanor. Whereas before he had sat stiff and erect while she snipped off the longer pieces of his hair, now he slumped low in the kitchen chair, resting his hands over the arms of the chair and looking complete relaxed. His head was thrown back as he rested his neck upon the thick towel lined edge of the sink, and she tried not to admire the strong column of his neck from beneath his parted collar. His eyes were closed and his hands limp, and for some reason the word "surrender" kept coming to her mind as she worked.

The hearth clock ticked softly and the fire snapped and hissed, the only sound in the room save the splash of water and squish of soap as she lathered it into his dark, thick hair. Leaning close as she worked, she tried to ignore the strange excitement she felt in tending to his personal needs. Despite the fact that Dr. Koch had discharged him to home care and he was certainly capable enough to do it himself, she was pleased to offer her services. She had to admit that it felt good and somehow right, having him here in the house she shared with Betsy, and now the children. Though she had explained that this was something she did for all her patients, he had seemed to look upon her with suspicion as to her motive. Their time together had produced an easy friendship, in her opinion. But judging by his expression he sensed it was more than that. Even more exciting was the fact that despite all this, he was letting her have her way with him.

Turning away to wipe her hands on a towel, she then reached for the pitcher and poured warm water over his head to rinse it thoroughly. He sighed lustily but kept his eyes closed, letting her guide his head from side to side as she poured and rinsed. Lathering his hair again, she ran her hands through it a second time, finally massaging the base of his skull. This brought them into even closer proximity and she sensed him tense up as she worked. His hands gripped the arms of the chair, she noted. The muscles at the base of his neck were tight and resistant, but after a few moments she felt him relax and they became more pliant. His answering sigh tickled the skin at the back of her own neck and traveled down her spine with delicious effect. Straightening abruptly, she reached for the water and rinsed his hair again.

_Why does he affect me so?_ she wondered, glancing down at his upturned face. She had done the same for many male patients, but had to admit that none seemed to enjoy it as thoroughly as he seemed to. She wondered what he'd endured in the past to bring him such pleasure with only the simplest of luxuries? Her earlier attempts to draw him into conversation had revealed very little, yet somehow she found herself trusting him. And, judging by the way he relaxed under her touch and his closed eyes, he seemed to trust her.

Setting aside the pitcher she smoothed most of the water from his hair before reaching for a towel. This she placed beneath his head and patted the rest of his hair until it was damp. Touching his shoulder, she watched him stir as if awakening. He opened his eyes to gaze sleepily up at her and she found she could not look away. In the bright sunlight she noted shards of silver in his eyes, as well as specks of black and darker hues of gray, at which she stared in fascination. As she did so they changed, firing like molten silver, darkening in hue as his gaze became something more than simple gratitude. But then they changed again, as if in realization, just before he broke contact and glanced away. He straightened in the chair, touching her hand as if in apology. She gripped the towel beneath his neck more tightly despite the warm comfort of his touch, finally sliding her hand from beneath his. He was turning to face her as she took a step backward, watching him slowly rise to tower over her. To her astonishment he smiled warmly, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

"That was a rare pleasure indeed," he said softly as she stared mutely at him. "I shall recommend your services with only the highest praises."

She felt herself smile back and tilted her head to one side, glancing at the long wet tendrils of his hair where they lay plastered along his open collar. "But I haven't finished," she replied, reaching up to pull the damp towel from his shoulders. "Please, sit down."

He watched her reach for a dry towel and sighed with resignation. "Very well," he said, and when he sat with his hands upon his knees she stepped behind him and covered his head with the towel. Drying his hair with vigorous strokes she roughed his head, smiling as he laughed, the deep rumble from his chest pleasing her by its warm tone. She felt she had been rewarded a rare treat indeed, to hear his laughter.

"Quite invigorating, Miss Connolly," he declared, "but I am glad I chose to shave myself."

"I'm much gentler at shaving," she quipped, tossing aside the towel and reaching for another. This she wrapped over his broad shoulders, patting them as she leaned toward his right ear. "In foregoing that service you must therefore limit your recommendations to barbering—"

He chose that moment to turn his head, bringing their faces into close proximity. Her words faded into silence as she stared into his remarkable eyes and promptly lost her train of thought. Their regard traveled like a gentle caress over her face, settling upon her parted lips. She heard his breath quicken as his own lips parted. He smiled hesitantly, his brows lifting in anticipation as he gazed up at her.

"My hair?" he suggested softly, lifting his eyes to her upswept coiffe. "Though I don't mean to rush you."

She smiled at his challenge. "There is one small matter concerning my fee…" she hinted, finally deciding to pursue the issue which had plagued her since discovering him in the woods.

His gaze heated even more. "Name it."

She quirked a brow at him, squeezing his shoulder beneath the thick towel. "You might not be willing to pay it…"

"It would only be fair," he agreed, "considering my present state of poor grooming."

She picked up the scissors and held them aloft. "It involves a bit of play acting."

He eyed the instrument with some reserve. "I'm fairly good at that, if I do say so myself."

"And experienced," she added, sobering as she considered how to state her need.

"I am at your disposal, mademoiselle," he said softly, his eyes capturing hers. "State your terms."

"I need a temporary fiancé," she blurted out, grimacing at herself. "I'm sorry—it's just that—"

"How temporary?"

She glanced toward the closed door, for the first time wondering if anyone could hear their conversation. "Just until I can leave."

"Why the urgency?"

She glanced back at his look of concern. "I sense my brother-in-law's parade of potential suitors is about to come to a halt, and that he will force me to decide upon one."

"And you find none of the candidates suitable?"

She shook her head. "I'm afraid not."

He pondered this a moment. "Then he is rather persistent, this brother-in-law of yours?"

"Very," she answered, relaxing in the light of his puzzled expression. "Overbearingly so—and he is younger than I!"

He shrugged. "He takes his family responsibility quite seriously, it appears."

"Just to get rid of me," she protested, glancing toward the window. "I fear my days are numbered here, Lieutenant."

"Aaron," he sighed, and she detected a note of frustration in the sound. "Then it is a simple matter of you needing escort—for the mere price of a haircut…"

"And a shampoo," she added, turning to look at him again. "I thought that since you were going to be leaving, it would benefit us both."

"Really?" he smiled, gazing at her with interest. "How might I benefit, save for the haircut?"

She frowned. "I realize I'm asking a high price to pay, but our disappearing at the same time might satisfy the gossips and provide you an excuse for lingering so long."

He nodded. "The local laws concerning loitering seem to be quite strict."

"It's not that!" she said in frustration. "Look, I nursed you and took a fancy to you—"

"I'm honored—" he smiled devilishly.

"Then having finally found someone I liked I pleaded with you and convinced you to join the patriot cause. I took advantage of your weakened condition and convinced you to join our side!"

He stared at her in mock outrage. "I didn't realize how bold you truly are."

"Don't' tease me, Aaron!"

He smiled. "Finally you've used my name, now that we are engaged—"

"I'm entirely serio—" She stopped mid-sentence to stare at him. "Then you agree?"

He shrugged. "It seems to make sense—the only problem is my supposed transfer to prison, not to mention the danger of the journey."

"Masters will help us! All you need do is meet up with Captain Burke, take me along as far as necessary so that I can book passage onto see my brother."

"The one at Fort Schuyler?"

"Yes, and when I return later with an obviously broken engagement and heart, no one will press me to risk it to another," she stated. "It's the perfect solution, for all concerned."

He stared at her with obvious concern. "This is your choice of a future?"

She frowned, somewhat startled by his question. "It's hardly my choice," she admitted, laying a hand on his shoulder as she held up the scissors. "For now I see no other course of action…at least think about it, while I cut your hair?"

He quirked a dark brow. "If I decide against it, what happens to my hair?"

She laughed. "Don't worry, you'll get a good haircut."

"I hope so," he sighed, settling into a more relaxed position. "I will consider your request with the utmost care."

She smiled, grateful that he did not press her for details she did not have. Temporarily distracting herself from the proposition, she worked carefully on his hair, concentrating on its thickness and the hues exposing themselves as it began to dry. She hated asking him for this favor, but when she thought of Caleb's return she knew he was not to be deterred. All she was doing was taking her future into her own hands, and she sensed Aaron realized this. To her surprise, the ensuing silence between them was not tense, but somehow comfortable. Finishing off with a few snips here and there, she stood back, trying not to laugh at the way he sat up and squirmed uncomfortably from the hair that must have fallen down into his shirt. She reached out and pulled his collar away from his neck, freezing when he turned his head and stared heatedly into her eyes.

"You have hair—" she tried to explain, her words trailing off beneath his intense regard.

After a moment he pulled the front of his shirt away from his chest and gently shook it, still holding her gaze. "I should change," he said somewhat coolly, then rose and walked toward the door. She saw him pause and set his shoulders before he turned to look back at her. "Thank you…"

They heard a carriage approaching, and her expression froze as they listened. To her horror it grew louder and she heard the driver call out to the team. Aaron's expression grew guarded as she stated the obvious.

"Someone's here—you need to hide!" she whispered, rushing to take his arm. "No, not your room—

upstairs!"

_**"So…" Cecily breathed, walking slowly around the parlor **_and glancing to the door that led to the kitchen. "Aren't you going to invite me to lunch?"

Ceara forced a smile as she reached for her wrap. "I thought we might visit the Perkins family and visit with Sarah," she stated. "You can help calm her fears about her soon delivery!"

"I'm not sure," Cecily stalled, patting Matthew's back. "I need to feed Matthew, and I'd rather discover what you're hiding from me."

Ceara frowned as her sister's gaze pointed toward the kitchen. "Nothing but a pile of dirty dishes that need washing!" she lied, praying that God would forgive her because she only did it to protect Aaron's safety. And she could not forget her sister's partnership with her husband in thwarting her right to choose her own husband.

"Really? It's so unlike you and Betsy to leave a mess," she drawled, approaching the door. "Besides, I came here to see you, not Sarah Perkins—"

Ceara cried out as her sister shoved the door open and stared into the kitchen. In its center stood the chair draped with wet towels, its legs planted in a carpet of dark hair. Cecily looked at her accusingly.

"I knew it!" she hissed, pointing toward the evidence. "He's here, isn't he—your patient friend!"

Ceara grabbed her arm. "Please Cec, don't tell anyone—"

Matthew began to fuss between them as Cecily patted his back and shook her head. "Have you any idea what you are risking, taking in a deserter?"

"It's not what you think—"

"Caleb suspects foul play," her sister pleaded. "And he's got friends everywhere, watching and waiting!"

Ceara released her arm with a huff. "I would hope my own sister might help me live my own life!"

"And go against my husband? I suppose now you want me to _lie_ to him—"

"Yes, for once!" Ceara complained, propelling her toward the sofa. "I'm _leaving_ because of your husband, and your loyalty to him!"

"What?" Cecily screeched. "Leaving? Ceara, you can't—I need you."

"No you don't, you have Caleb, and Matthew!"

They stared at each other a moment before Cecily grabbed her hand. "You are all I've got, Ceara. I love you, but I have to agree with Caleb when I see you charting your course toward spinsterhood! And I hate hearing what they say about you—"

"I don't care what they say—"

"But I do! They say you've let the past imprison you—"

"Just because I don't like Caleb's choice of suitors doesn't mean I'm doing that!"

Cecily sat down with a huff, shaking her head at her. "I just want you to be happy, like I am!"

Ready to protest but sensing it would do no good, Ceara forced herself to really see her sister. And for once, what she saw in her eyes was the truth. "I won't be happy if I cannot make my own choices, even if I make a mistake!"

"I know," Cecily apologized, breathing a calming breath. "But please Ceara, don't leave because of Caleb. And don't think of going anywhere near Fort Stanwix—"

"I need to see Jamie, who will at least allow me to do as I please!"

"But it's too dangerous and how would you even get there—"

"She's coming with me," a deep voice interrupted in a clipped British accent.

Both women stared toward the staircase, where Aaron stood watching them intently, one arm curled around his waist as he leaned against the banister.

"Your sister has agreed to marry me," he said soberly, shifting his gaze from Cecily to Ceara, a smile playing around his lips. "Haven't you, luv?"

_c. 2008 by Christine Levitt_


	8. Chapter 8 The Escape

_**Chapter 8**__**­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­The Escape**_

Cecily stared at the man standing poised halfway down the stairs, his steely gaze holding her sister in its grip. He was tall, for he had to bend his head forward to avoid touching the ceiling of the stairwell. In the shadows his eyes glowed like molten silver and she swallowed in awe, the picture of a sickly old man fading quickly from her mind. Despite the loose drape of his clothing she could see that despite his lean build his parted shirt revealed the hint of a finely sculpted chest and broad shoulders. She watched his lips purse as his expression changed from wariness to resolve. In the hushed silence she heard him swallow, unconsciously drawing her attention to the masculine beauty of his throat. From there her gaze lowered to the muscled arm protecting his waist before it shot back accusingly to her sister. Both she and Ceara found themselves momentarily speechless, a rare occurrence indeed.

Ceara, she could see, stood frozen in place, her hand covering her heart as she stared back at him. Cecily was aware of his slight shift of movement as he slowly descended the remaining stairs, his eyes still locked with Ceara's. Cecily noted that he moved with catlike grace, finally lowering himself to the planks of Betsy's finely polished floor. Then he lifted a hand toward Ceara, holding it palm up. Cecily watched in mesmerized fascination as Ceara slowly went to him and placed her hand in his, turning with him to face her as if she was intruding upon some private and intimate moment. And she had to admit that was exactly the way she felt as she watched his gaze tear itself away from Ceara's profile to meet hers. He parted his perfectly formed mouth and spoke to her as he wound his other arm around her sister.

"And now you have discovered us," he said softly, his voice deep and velvety. There was lilting quality to his accent, reminding her of the Scottish family at church.

"You're the deserter," she whispered, watching his subtle nod of acknowledgement as he threaded his fingers through Ceara's. She shifted her gaze to Ceara's hesitant expression. "And you took my advice," she breathed, watching Ceara bite her lower lip.

"I did," she admitted, tilting her face up to look at him. He met her gaze before lowering his head to kiss her temple, then stared off toward the direction of the kitchen. Cecily watched Ceara's hand tighten within his and knew without a doubt that somehow this man had earned her sister's trust. When Ceara looked back at her she felt overwhelmingly guilty for her past behavior.

"After all Caleb and I have put you through," she apologized, shaking her head. "You have finally chosen for yourself."

Ceara nodded. "This is Aaron," she said softly, smoothing her fingers along the well muscled arm he was circling her with. "This is Cecily Godwin, my younger sister," she told him softly.

He swerved his gaze back toward her, nodding briefly. "I must retain my surname," he said quietly, "for obvious reasons."

Cecily nodded, tightening her hold on her son's sleeping form. "This is Matthew," she said softly, watching his eyes drop to the little bundle in her arms. Now that he stood in the brighter light she watched a flicker of longing light his gaze before he looked away.

She met Ceara's beseeching gaze and forced a smile. "Well, aren't you going to make us something to eat?" she requested, noting the relief washing over Ceara's face. To both their surprise Aaron loosened his arm and moved away.

"Allow me," he offered, gently easing his hand from hers as he sought her leave.

"No Aaron, please," she objected, watching him stop by the kitchen door. "Let me."

He paused to glance back at her. "Your sister has come to see you," he stated, "I insist."

They watched him push open the door and enter the kitchen, staring after him until it swung closed behind him. After a moment they heard the muted sound of pots rattling gently, and Cecily shot a questioning look at Ceara.

"He prepares meals?" she whispered, smiling despite herself.

Ceara glanced back toward the closed door, listening to the soft, tuneless whistle which drifted toward them from behind it. "Apparently."

"This _is_ the man you told me about," Cecily whispered.

Ceara turned to stare at her. "Who else would he be?" she whispered back, coming to sit by her. "Betsy brought him home from the infirmary."

Cecily stared at her sister. "How long have you known him?" she whispered.

"He's been my patient all this time," she hissed, "just as I told you."

"Where is he from, Scotland? And what do you know about his family?"

"I don't know—we've only just managed to get him up and about—"

"I see him favoring his side—does Dr. Koch know he's here?"

"He was wounded badly, and has recurrent fevers—"

"He looks quite fine to me!" she hissed back. "Why didn't you tell me how young and attractive he is?"

Ceara pulled her gaze from the door, smiling hopefully. "You think so?"

Cecily stared at her in amazement. "I see now why you turned down Mr. Hastings and the others—how did he propose?"

"You must tell no one, Cec, or we will all be in a great deal of trouble."

Cecily pulled back, offended. "I wouldn't say a word—don't you trust me?"

"This is very important—his life could be in danger—"

"If you're worried about Caleb don't be," she assured her, glancing toward the door when they heard something fall to the countertop. After a moment the soft whistling began again. Their eyes met. "Is he really taking you away to elope—"

"You don't believe me!" Ceara huffed, moving to get up.

Cecily gripped her arm to keep her down. "From the way he looks at you I wondered if he would be able to wait."

Ceara's face registered the insult she seemed to decide was a compliment, as Cecily intended it. Then she blushed hotly and Cecily chuckled, squeezing her arm. "He's magnificent, Ceara—don't put him off too long—"

"Aaron is a gentleman!" Ceara hissed in protest. "And a man of his word."

"I wasn't insulting his character, but you haven't known him very long and men tend to lose interest if they are not encouraged."

"I cannot believe you!" Ceara hissed. "You expected me to choose one of Caleb's suitors and endure a long trying engagement," she protested. "At least we have spent some time together and have gotten to know each other."

"But you don't know anything about his background or family!" Cecily stated gently. "He does seem very fond of you, but it just seems so sudden."

"Only from your point of view."

"Well it is obvious that you are comfortable with him," she admitted, feeling Ceara's grip just as the door swung open. Through it came the object of their discussion, wearing a towel slung over his arm as he carried a covered dish to the table, placed it there and left without a word. But not before tossing Ceara a seductive grin.

Both sisters held their breath until the door swung closed again.

"What could he have prepared in such a short time?" Ceara wondered softly, staring at the door in wonder.

"That look he just gave you—" Cecily breathed, fanning herself. "One would think you had already been…"

Ceara blushed again, lifting her hands to her face. "It almost feels that way," she admitted, shaking her head, "with those eyes of his."

"That's the best way," Cecily sighed, waiting for Ceara to look at her before she smiled broadly. "I can see how difficult it would be to resist him."

Ceara lowered her hands to her lap. "You have to understand, it's not what you think—"

"If you let him get away I'll never speak to you again!" Cecily interrupted, turning her head as they heard footsteps pounding toward the house and up onto the porch. To their surprise the door burst open and a young girl rushed in, a small boy in tow. They wore horrified expressions and the boy started to warn Ceara before they saw that she was not alone. Two pairs of matching eyes rested on Cecily as they gripped each other for support. She watched the girl's eyes dart to Ceara, then to the closed kitchen door. The boy was staring at the guest room door which stood wide open.

"Faith and Paulie, meet my sister Cecily," Ceara said casually, holding their gazes. "The children are staying with us until their father returns from the fighting," she explained.

The girl's eyes shot to Cecily as she curtsied. "Yes, ma'am," she panted, still trying to catch her breath.

"You look a lot like Ceara," the boy breathed, "but a lot fancier."

"Why thank you, Sir," Cecily laughed, transferring her gaze to his sister. "And I can see the family resemblance between you two as well."

"Is that your baby?" Faith breathed, coming closer and peering down at Matthew. At that moment they heard something fall in the kitchen and the children shot to attention.

"Who else is here?" Paulie gasped, his eyes fixed on the kitchen door.

"The chef," Ceara announced, nodding toward the door. "Why don't you go help Lieutenant Aaron?"

Paulie looked horrified. "You mean _Mr._ Aaron."

"It's all right, Paulie—my sister knows about him."

"Come on Paulie, let's help make lunch," Faith urged, tugging her brother's arm. She glanced at Cecily and dipped a slight curtsy. "Pleased to meet you," she said, practically dragging her brother toward the kitchen.

Cecily watched them swing through the door, beyond which she caught a glimpse of a strong back and the loosely tied apron around Aaron's waist. As the door closed she heard his voice call out.

"Ah, the rescue party!" he declared, the remainder of the conversation too low and muffled to be heard through the door. She turned her head to face her sister.

"How many more strays have you rescued?"

Ceara shrugged. "They were hiding in the stables by the infirmary, just to be near him," she tried to explain. Cecily could see that she was frustrated by what must be a complicated story she had little time to explain. "No one knew they were there until Faith went and hid in the closet of his room."

"Faith? But why would she—"

"Aaron saved her life," she said quietly, glancing toward the door. "He was leading his men on a training exercise when they passed through the area. After Faith gave them permission to stay in her barn for the night they must have guessed she and Paulie were all alone. After Aaron fell asleep they snuck off after her, planning to desert North after having some fun with her. Aaron awoke, discovered them missing and followed; he got in their way and was injured rescuing her."

"How terrible! Where were the parents?"

Ceara shook her head. "The mother passed away at some months ago; their father was never the same, and apparently wandered off grief stricken."

"He left them all alone?"

"Apparently." **  
**  
Cecily remembered how devastated they'd been from the loss of their own parents and later their two younger brothers. "The poor things," she sighed, feeling the old familiar knifelike pain in her middle. "So _he_ rescued her from his own men?"

"Yes…apparently not all quartered soldiers are the same."

Cecily frowned, remembering the quartered soldiers who took over their own home. They too had gone after Ceara, which made her sister's statement even more astounding. She had often thought how well she would have fared, having undergone what Ceara had. Shuddering, she shook her head. "Then he is in a very small minority."

"Faith was able to run off during their fight, but not before she saw one of them run him through with his bayonet. She ran for Paulie and they've been hiding ever since, except to manage to keep track of their rescuer."

Cecily suddenly remembered her dinner conversation with Dr. Koch and his wife. "Dear Lord!" she gasped, "those were the men Caleb was taking about!"

Ceara glanced nervously toward the kitchen, as if afraid they might be overheard. "Caleb? What men?"

Cecily leaned closer, laying a hand on Ceara's arm. "A small group of men was found up North, frozen to death not far from the border."

Ceara tensed, her eyes glued to Cecily's. "He doesn't know!" she whispered.

Cecily gripped her hand with sudden inspiration. "What matters is that he was not the deserter so you don't have to worry!" she whispered. "Once he reports back to his headquarters in Boston, he will no doubt be given a medical leave and then he can come back to court you properly!"

Ceara stared at her with an enigmatic expression that puzzled her. "I'm afraid it is not that simple, Cec."

Cecily stared at her suspiciously. "He isn't truly a deserter, is he?"

"We've only agreed to a trial engagement," Ceara began before she interrupted her.

"Don't tell me any more or I'll be responsible for it," she warned, glancing toward the door behind which they could hear a deep voice singing and the sound of the children's laughter.

"I can hardly believe you just said that," Ceara grinned.

"Either way he is in danger, so I can see the wisdom in hiding him," Cecily agreed. "We don't know loyal from rebel and bounty hunters are everywhere. Even Dr. Koch told us he was being transferred to Boston, yet here he is with you and Betsy, apparently with his approval—"

"Dr. Koch? When did you speak with him—"

"I had them for dinner last night, so now Caleb suspects something is amiss."

"Dr. Koch would never say anything about a patient beyond discussing his medical condition."

"That is quite true, but after hearing Aaron's story I wonder why he wouldn't just report what happened with his men and insist upon being transported in style to a city physician, as the other officers all do."

Ceara glanced longingly toward the kitchen as Aaron's deep laugh sounded muffled by the door. "He's not like the others," she sighed, a soft smile playing about her lips.

Cecily studied her suspiciously, her own gaze drifting toward the door. "You like him, don't you?" she whispered with a growing smile as Ceara busied herself with straightening the pillows on the settee. "Even better, he seems to like you: I can tell by the way he looks at you."

"It's complicated," Ceara admitted somewhat shyly. "But I know that he is a good man; we've become friends these last few weeks."

Cecily smiled. "It's more than friendship, at least on his part."

Ceara nodded, finally standing up. "I trust him, Cec, and he's agreed to escort me to Jamie's fort; this will probably be the last time we see each other for a while."

Cecily gripped her hand and stood, careful to keep Matthew close. To her great relief he slept through their entire discussion. "You must write and let me know how you've fared." _And,_ she thought to herself, _be sure to give me all the details of the wedding, and wedding night._

"I cannot risk it," Ceara worried. "Not with Caleb glancing over your shoulder every moment."

"He won't find out, not if you write me care of the general store," Cecily decided. "Please, Ceara—I just want to be sure that he does indeed marry you legally and in truth."

"He gave me his word," Ceara said, looking a bit insulted. "That is good enough for me, and should be for you if not Caleb."

Cecily bent her head to kiss Matthew's brow. "Let me handle Caleb."

_**Aaron narrowed his gaze**_ on Paulie's somber expression before glancing up at Faith. "You're sure about this?" he whispered.

She nodded. "We overheard them at the general store, asking where the infirmary was—"

"Then one of them mentioned Miss Ceara's name!" Paulie gasped, obviously worried.

"Don't be alarmed," Aaron soothed, placing a hand on the boy's shoulder. "She has many friends in this town, and we will help her—"

"Not her, you!" Paulie choked, gripping Aaron's arm. "You have to go somewhere else and hide before they find you!"

After a moment of indecision Aaron straightened and gazed out the window at the peaceful late morning scene beyond the window. He knew his presence in this house put everyone in it at risk, and pulling the apron from his waist he stalked toward the mudroom and reached for a jacket. "You're right," he admitted, nodding toward the children. "But don't say a word to Ceara or her sister."

"I'll pack you some food," Faith gasped, leaping into action. "Paulie, clean up any sign of him being here, quickly!"

Aaron carefully inserted an arm into the old coat that hunger there, wondering about its owner only momentarily. He pushed his stockinged feet into an old pair of boots, finding them a bit too small. By the time he turned to the side door Paulie reached him first, throwing his arms around his hips as he buried his face against Aaron's good side. Feeling awkward, Aaron laid a hesitant hand over his small shoulder, turning to look at Faith.

"How do I get to the church where you hid?" he whispered. "And if there is a back way there I need those directions."

She complied, pointing and gesturing, then gathered her brother close. "We'll pray that you're safe," she told him, handing him a sack of food.

He nodded. "Pretend as if nothing is amiss," he instructed gently. "Start bringing the food out to them so they won't notice—"

Faith's eyes widened. "She will be angry if you leave—"

"Tell her not to follow and that I'll meet her tomorrow night, as planned."

"I'll sneak your things to you later," Paulie offered, "after they go to bed."

"You will do no such thing!" Faith hissed, glancing up at Aaron. "I will."

He held her gaze a moment. "Actually, he will attract less attention, and be safer."

She looked as if she might argue, but to her credit she nodded once. "All right."

Aaron bent to Paulie. "Come only if it's safe," he ordered in a whisper, "and make sure no one sees you."

Paulie nodded forcefully. "I'll tell her the men will be watching her; then she'll stay away from you."

"Good thinking," he smiled, touching the top of the boy's head before he opened the door.

Paulie caught the edge of his jacket. "Why were you speaking funny before?" he wanted to know.

Aaron glanced at Faith a moment before answering. "So her sister thinks I'm proper enough to be her suitor."

Both children gasped excitedly. "You're courting Miss Ceara?" Faith breathed, a smile on her face.

Aaron raised a finger to his lips and took one last glance out the window. With a knowing smile he quickly slipped out of the house, watching them close the door behind him. The last thing he saw was Paulie's hand raised in farewell just before Faith jerked him away from the door.

_**Pacing the cellar floor **_like a caged animal, Aaron eyed the darkened entrance to the tunnel with growing apprehension. Above his head the tromp of booted feet released fine siftings of dust which were jarred from between the floorboards of the tavern directly above his head. He'd spent an entire day hiding here in a secret storage room and by now was restless and anxious. Removing his cap, he shook it out with a disgusted grunt and paced in a different location, reaching back to press a hand to the small of his back. He was cooped up and sore from being cramped up whenever a noise alerted him to a potential intruder, forcing him back into the dark closet beneath the stairs. By now Burke and Masters were just about an hour later than scheduled. Recognizing the old familiar panic rising within him he toyed with the idea of leaving without them. It had often proved a wise choice in the past, but now he was not so sure. Too many people were involved when he was accustomed to working alone. If he did leave he would have to face the old smugglers' tunnel alone, the thought of which caused his throat to go dry and his heart to pound. The only way he would get through that would be to focus upon the vision of Ceara waiting for him at the other end, if indeed she was even there.

Leaning back against the wall, he closed his eyes and pictured her face. He had not seen her since sneaking out the back of Betsy's house, but something told him she would go through with their plan. Even though just following his departure they had been visited by two bounty hunters, whom Aaron watched from his hiding place in the woods. Even though she had been too angry to be terrified by their appearing, according to Paulie's report late the same night when he'd delivered Aaron's belongings to him at the abandoned church. Ceara had endured all that for his sake, positioning herself at least in his eyes at the highest level of loyalty. And that was something he awarded to no other woman he'd ever known.

Now, as he waited for Burke to appear, talk and leave this place he focused his mind upon Ceara's wishes, not his own. She had put herself out for him and he owed her. But how was he to repay her? As he paced soundlessly back and forth along the narrow confines of the root cellar he found the answer more and more inarguable. To escort her thus and allow her reputation to remain intact an engagement would be necessary. And as he remembered their act on Betsy's staircase he found it more and more tempting to consider it more than an act. The look in her eyes and her response to his touch teased him, though unbeknownst to her. During his confinement they had grown close, like friends in actuality. But there was something beneath their friendship that awakened a longing in him for companionship. Worse, he'd held her in his arms, however briefly, affording himself the pleasure of her nearness and the alluring fragrance of her scent. The joke was on him, he realized as he ran a hand through his hair and quickened his pacing. Now that he had held her in his arms and received her proposal of engagement he found he could think of little else. Even now he began to wonder what it would be like to make it an engagement in truth, something he new he had no right or freedom to desire.

Mentally shaking himself he turned and planted both hands upon his hips, eyeing the tunnel he knew stretched beyond the closed and barricaded door. Steeling himself for the ordeal of entering and traversing its length, he concentrated at its end at the river where Ceara would be waiting to leave with him. He could almost see her, he thought with a slight smile, dressed as a boy and waiting by the little launch kept tied and hidden for this purpose. She trusted him to escort her safely to Stanwix to see her brother, and he doubted Burke would deny them permission. It was their base of operation, after all. He hoped to remain there a few days and, without her knowledge, arrange for her safe escort back with or without him. Once the plans were in place Burke could send him wherever he wished and they would be on their separate ways. Or so they had planned.

At the sound of approaching steps he ducked beneath the stairwell, holding his breath. The quiet slow scrape of a door was followed by a moment of silence. He heard six hesitant taps upon the wall, executed in such a manner that they could only have one source. Expelling his breath, he waited under cover until they entered the room and stood searching its perimeter for him. Then, rising to his full height he stepped out to reveal himself, holding his superior's surprised gaze.

Josiah Burke was 15 years his senior but already completely white of hair and weatherworn of face. Dressed for the occasion in farmer's clothing, Aaron fought to hide a smile as he transferred his gaze to Masters, who stood stiffly at his side. He nodded and snapped his eyes back to Burke, parting his lips with a frown.

"You're late," he accused Burke, watching the older man's expression smooth from a look of concern.

"You're too thin," he answered before stepping forward to clasp Aaron's outstretched hand. "Masters told me you were wounded pretty badly," he said, shaking and keeping his hand. "I'm still in shock, though I can see the result with my own eyes."

Aaron shrugged and pulled his hand back. "It certainly wasn't the first time—any news of my men?"

Burke shook his head. "They didn't make it, Aaron. Storm froze them all."

Aaron held his hard gaze until the news registered, then he sighed in frustration. "I thought they were headed for rehabilitation, at least until we bedded down in someone's barn. They apparently found a cache of liquor and got drunk while I was gaining permission from the family, and by the time I returned they'd decided to desert. Two of them went after the young girl while we were fighting…"

"So they outnumbered you," Burke grunted, shaking his head. "Well I'm glad you haven't used up your nine lives yet," he quipped, moving to the tunnel barricade. "We'll talk on the way, and let's hope tonight's adventure doesn't come close to stealing another one from you."

"I was about to leave in another minute, you were so late," Aaron complained, helping him pull open the door. "Even if it meant going in there alone."

"I'd never do that to you," he answered, glancing toward Masters. "We were delayed by a very suspicious barkeep, not to mention the two Royal officers reported seen in the next town. My bet is they will come here next, asking questions about you."

"I deserted," Aaron quipped, moving to precede them into the tunnel. Burke's hand shot out and gripped his arm.

"Allow us," he explained, motioning to Masters who ducked ahead of them. "Take middle position, Aaron—I insist."

_**Ceara wrung her hands,**_ jumping at the sound of a splash at her side. Squinting into the darkness, she saw a ripple of water in the dim moonlight. Only a fish, she decided, reminding herself that the recent thaw had melted the ice lining the river enough for the fish to rise and look for food. Pulling her brother's jacket closer, she crossed her arms to tuck it tighter around herself against the cold. They were late: she could tell by the height of the moon. Part of her shivering was not only from the cold, but with mounting nervousness that they had somehow been discovered. And so not for the first time that night, she began to pray while her thoughts rushed ahead of her whispers.

He has to make it, she kept telling herself. They had not come this far through so much trouble for no reason. It was unfortunately that Cecily had seen him, she worried, still unable to trust her sister explicitly. But it was Caleb's influence that was the real concern, not Cecily's loyalty. As she thought about Caleb's powers of persuasion she wondered if she might have the same weakness as her sister when it came to at least one particular man. Though it had been a performance meant to convince her sister of a different relationship than the one they truly shares, Ceara still reeled under the same kind of power herself, even if Aaron's fiery gaze and warm embrace had only been for show.

She slowly expelled a cloud of breath that looked ghostly in the moonlight. Just thinking about that encounter with him warmed her considerably. He had a way of holding her in the power of his gaze that startled and excited her at the same time. She had always thought the thing that made his eyes so beautiful was their expressive abilities, revealing a hint of what lie inside him. What she had not expected was their ability to hold her captive, speechless and unmoving, something no other man had ever accomplished. She didn't know whether to feel embarrassed or thankful that he had helped her overcome the icy fortification of her heart, but reminded herself that he had only acted in that way to rescue her from having to lie to Cecily. But still, something had transpired between them, even if only fleeting and based in fantasy.

_I must be careful not to underestimate him_, she vowed. No toying with his feelings, she determined, pacing in the soft snow cover. He was a spy, she reminded herself. Of course he would know how to act and hide his true feelings. He had easily fooled Cecily, who was legendary for her keen eye if not her intelligence. No one had ever fooled Cecily until she me Caleb, and Ceara vowed that she would not suffer the same fate. In fact, as she worried and waited longer, she began to wonder if she could really trust Aaron at all. If so, then where was he?

Her fears were heightened by the sound of horses, off in the distance yet coming her way. Slipping back further into the dense undergrowth of the trees, she gripped the tree trunk behind which she hid, craning her neck to the side to watch the field. There were four of them, and when they drew near she put her hand over her mouth to keep from crying out. Caleb!

_**Something was wrong**_, Aaron noted as Masters held up his hand and ducked low, crouching behind the stone wall. The three of them huddled close, their eyes on the men who sat astride with their backs to them. Across the distance of the field they could hear the sound of their quiet conversation, but not discern the subject. Burke tightened his grip on Aaron's shoulder as one of the men raised an arm and shouted suddenly.

"Spread out and search the riverbank!" Caleb ordered. "He's around here somewhere!"

"Godwin, you're grasping at straws," another voice rang out, causing Masters to lean his head toward Aaron.

"That's the constable!" he whispered, obviously fearful for Ceara's wellbeing. "He'll not leave till they find her!"

"I'll go," Aaron whispered, starting to rise but held in place by Burke's hand. Their eyes met and he felt at a loss how to explain why he couldn't let Ceara's brother-in-law suspect her. Yet neither could he let Burke and Masters be found aiding his escape.

"They might not turn you in," Burke warned as they watched the group split and ride off, leaving Caleb to ride slowly toward the riverbank, scanning the darkness before him.

"I cannot risk them finding her," he hissed to Burke. "If they send me to Boston make sure to send the order and claim me right away."

"I'll go," Masters hissed in protest. "They'll only suspect me of smuggling—"

"Don't shoot!" Ceara's voice rang out, startling all three and causing Caleb to pull up and quickly dismount.

To Aaron's horror, they watched her step out from the dense brush, dressed like a youth, as she had been the first time he laid eyes on her. Caleb's laughter fired his anger more than the way he stuck out his hand, waiting for her to shake it. Then he whistled and the men began to ride back toward them.

"I won't let her face them alone," Aaron insisted, shaking off Burke's hand and shoving against Masters' attempt to block him. "I'm going!" he hissed, slipping silently away.

"He's a fool!" Masters whispered, shaking his head. "Caleb will have him beaten and God only knows what else!"

Burke tightened his jaw. "He's no fool—watch."

_**Caleb's eyes raked down the length of her person,**_ making her feel like clawing his face with her nails. Standing as straight as she could, she lifted her chin. "That's quite enough!"

"Well, well, if it isn't my little sister-in-law, out masquerading as a boy and obviously up to no good," he drawled, nodding to the men who rode up and reined in their horses. "Guess who?"

Ceara swallowed in fear, darting a nervous glance up at the men and recognizing the constable. "What I do is none of your business," she answered, fisting her hands inside the huge pockets of the coat. "I could accuse you of the same, you know."

"What could you possibly be up to this time, my dear?" he chuckled. "Smuggling with that friend of yours, John Masters, I suspect."

She smiled despite the fact that her hat was slipping dangerously close to the edge of her skull. "As if you were not guilty of the same thing! You do have a taste for certain wines and delicacies, if my sister's bragging is indeed accurate."

He laughed, glancing up at the constable. "You heard her—that is as close to a confession as I've ever witnessed."

The older man frowned. "What about her accusations?"

"I'm not the one out past curfew without permission, am I?" Caleb answered.

"You've got a point," he admitted, heaving a sigh. "Why don't you just take her home and leave law enforcement to me, Mr. Godwin?"

Caleb pierced her with an accusing look. "Because I suspect her of fouler play than just smuggling; I have no doubt that she is involved with the disappearance of Dr. Koch's patient," he snarled. "In fact I cannot think of any other reason she might be out here tonight."

"There was no sign of smugglers," one of his men said, his voice sending icy fingers of fear running up and down Ceara's spine. She kept her eyes fixed on Caleb, who obviously held her fate in his hands. Even the constable seemed affected by his presence and sterling reputation.

"The only thing being smuggled is me!" she screeched at him. "You know it and so does everyone else!"

Caleb laughed and reached forward to nudge his finger beneath her chin. "Isn't she a cute little spitfire when she's angry, gentlemen? If it was not for that mouth of hers—"

The men laughed under their breaths, their eyes focused on her person with sudden interest.

Ceara cringed inwardly. "I'm running away from you and your relentless manipulation of my future—"

"I've only your best interests in mind," Caleb defended himself, glancing toward his men. "As you no doubt have observed, she rejects suitor after suitor even as her age creeps higher and higher."

"How dare you!" she roared at Caleb, the hoarseness of her voice only causing them more amusement. "Whom I marry is my business alone!"

"Where could you possibly be going tonight, then?" he protested, sweeping his arms wide. "I don't see a horse, or a boat, not to mention the fact that you are dressed as a boy!"

"I was out for a walk—"

Her words were cut off when Caleb grabbed the neck of her coat and lifted her to her toes. She grabbed his arms in an effort to dislodge his grip but could not. "Let me go!"

"I demand to know what you're up to this time," Caleb growled, giving her a little shake. "And if you don't answer me I'll be tempted to—"

"She's waiting for me," a voice called out, capturing their attention. "Now let her go."

Ceara's heart stopped at the sound of Aaron's voice, though she could not see him. In the still of the night they could all hear the click of a trigger and shivered in fear.

"Who's 'me'?" Caleb dared to call out, his eyes searching the dense growth along the riverbank.

"Send your men away," the voice answered in a menacing tone. "Then we'll talk."

Caleb glanced toward the constable, who nodded. He led the way and they rode off, keeping some distance but stopping at the edge of the field, their pistols drawn.

"I want them gone," Aaron ordered, staying where he was. Ceara stared in the direction from which his voice came, but could see nothing.

"You're insane if you think they'll leave me here unarmed," Caleb said haughtily, transferring his grip to Ceara's arm. "And now I have even better reason to do as I please!"

"Let her go."

Ceara gasped in fear as Caleb pulled her in front of him and braced his arm against her throat. "Don't think I won't harm her," he threatened. "I will see to it that her sister never knows."

After a moment the bushes rustled and Aaron stepped out, a pistol pointed at them both. After what seemed like hours he slowly lowered it and walked closer. "I said let her go," he said dangerously, "then we will talk."

Ceara squirmed and to her surprise she was released. Without taking note of Aaron she turned and kicked Caleb in the shin as forcefully as she could.

He yelled out a curse as a hand cupped her elbow. Caleb looked up at Aaron, whom she now realized stood close behind her. "What could you possibly want with _her_, being a deserter on the run?" he spat, eyeing her meaningfully. "She'll just slow you down."

"I like a woman with spirit," Aaron replied. "But I would never use her to hide behind."

"He's not a deserter, not that it is any of your busin—"

"This is between us," Aaron warned her, but she felt Caleb grab her arm tightly. "Let her go and we'll talk."

"She's my sister-in-law," Caleb warned, grinning at her struggles to free herself.

Aaron extended his gun. "I'll even let her take my pistol."

Caleb groaned in disgust, flinging her away. She stumbled against Aaron, who had come closer. This Caleb seemed to observe with grim fascination. "I admit to being more curious than is wise," he admitted, flinching when Ceara snatched the gun and turned it on him.

"I ought to shoot you right now!" she warned, trembling with emotion. She was so angry at him that she wanted to aim just close enough to blow a hole through his expensive velvet sleeve.

"Ceara," Aaron warned softly. "Let me talk to him."

His voice moved over her like an encouraging touch and after a moment she took a step back, lowering the gun and pointing a finger at Caleb. "You had better not have coerced my sister in any way—"

"Your sister is blissfully ignorant of both our whereabouts," he spat, "as well as all the trouble you have caused me!"

"Good," she taunted. "Keep it that way or so help me God—"

"Do you see what you're involving yourself with?" he asked Aaron, taking a step closer. Ceara lifted the gun in warning.

"I am aware of your callous and cruel treatment of her," Aaron accused, passing Ceara on his way toward the river. "I suggest we discuss this as privately as possible, man to man."

Ceara watched him suddenly take Caleb's arm and shove it behind his back so quickly that he stumbled for balance. She watched Aaron escort him toward the bank and stop, unable to help the satisfied smile curling her lips. Aaron towered over Caleb and was obviously stronger despite his lean build. Watching in awe, she saw Aaron fling Caleb's arm away as he pointed his own finger and spoke too low for her to overhear. Caleb straightened his shoulders and after a moment raised his fist in protest, only to slowly lower it and stand a bit more dejected. It was obviously a heated discussion, yet when Caleb threw his arms up she knew it was settled. Then, to her amazement Aaron turned his back on him and strode back toward her. Caleb whistled to his men like they were horses yet they moved at his command and rode toward them, Caleb's stallion led between them.

Aaron came to stand next to her and she looked up at him, gripping his arm. "What happened?" she asked, studying his stern profile.

"We made a deal," he said ominously, his eyes on Caleb as he gathered the others and pointed toward them. Laughter rang out from the group as she fastened both hands around his upper arm.

"What kind of deal?" she gasped, glancing toward the men riding up to surround them.

Aaron held Caleb's smug smile as the constable slipped from his horse and began to rummage through his saddlebag. Finally he glanced down at her with an unreadable expression.

"Aaron?" she said in a small voice. "What is happening?"

"We're getting married," he said, suddenly scooping her against his good side as he met the constable's questioning look with a nod. "Right now."

_c. 2008 by Christine Levitt_


	9. Chapter 9 The Ceremony

**_Chapter 9 The Ceremony_**

Ceara stared up at the tight expression on Aaron's face, digging her fingers into the sleeve of his coat. Hearing Constable Abbot clear his throat, she glanced toward the book he held open between his hands in disbelief.

"Married?" she squeaked, looking at her brother-in-law with mounting suspicion. Caleb wore an all-knowing smile, which only served to gather her conflicting emotions into a threatening storm. Narrowing her gaze upon his dimpled cheeks, she wondered how he had once again managed to interfere with their plans. "This is all your doing," she accused, her voice sounding meek and hoarse in the damp cold. His smile only widened confidently as she felt Aaron place a hand at her waist. "You've gone too far this time, Caleb Godwin—"

"Ceara…" Aaron warned softly, his gaze on Caleb as she stared up at him in confusion. "Hear him out."

Turning to grasp the front of his coat she tugged at its worn lapels. "We don't have to do as he says!" she croaked, unable to break his eye contact with Caleb.

"Shall we get this over with before we all freeze to death?" the constable prompted impatiently. "I've got other matters to deal with tonight."

Studying Aaron's determined expression, she wondered why he would not look at her. Turning her most beseeching look to the official, she feigned offense to propriety. "Surely Your Honor, officiating a marriage under these conditions is highly inappropriate—"

"You heard your fiancé," Caleb drawled. "We made a deal."

"First the matter of her dowry must be settled," Aaron stated, his gaze boring into Caleb.

Feeling frustrated and powerless, she fisted Aaron's coat in her hands. "You had no right to discuss my dowry in my absence!" she told both men, feeling his hand press her closer. She was forced to clutch his sides to support herself, so closely did he hold her.

"I need more time to check my records," Caleb hedged, completely ignoring her.

"We had an agreement," Aaron said dangerously.

"I am sorely tempted to lock you all up together until morning!" the constable warned, "if we do not proceed."

Caleb sighed and reached inside his coat. "All right—I suppose it is her due," he stated, pulling out his billfold, "but I must deduct my expenses to pay for all the trouble she has caused me of late."

Feeling more humiliated than angry at Aaron, she clutched him tightly. "See what ensues when you deal with the devil?" she choked. "If I am to be treated no better than an indentured servant, then purchase me as such or go on without me!"

He tore his gaze away from Caleb to stare at her stonily. "We had a deal as well," he said softly, "if you remember."

"Just so that no one can accuse me of stealing," Caleb announced, extending to Aaron a small stack of notes, "take it before she does exactly that."

"It's my money!" Ceara declared, snatching it from his hand. She felt Aaron's hand fall away and stepped back, fanning the notes to see how much was there. "You are the only thief here and you know it!" she answered her brother-in-law.

"See what I must deal with, Constable?" he wined.

The older man stepped closer to Ceara. "Is that the full amount, Miss Connolly?"

"It is barely a quarter of my dowry!" she answered, stuffing it inside her shirt before she realized the inappropriateness of her gesture. Glancing up into Aaron's interested gaze, which followed the journey of her hand inside her coat, she blushed hotly before tightening the jacket around her. Crossing her arms over her chest she shivered involuntarily, despite the heated rush of embarrassment she felt.

"I will discuss the matter with your sister and see that the remainder is deposited into an account for you," the constable assured her.

"We are leaving the area tonight," Aaron interjected, nodding when Ceara glanced up at him.

"Of course you are," Caleb sneered, shaking his head.

"Then contact my office with an address," the constable advised. "It will be held until you claim it."

"Any address must be kept in strictest confidence," Ceara stated coolly, glancing at Caleb.

"Fair enough," he agreed, also eyeing Caleb. "I expect your cooperation in complying with her wishes, Mr. Godwin."

Caleb looked offended. "In case you have both forgotten, I _am_ an attorney!"

"From my perspective it appears your position has not deterred you from exploiting what should have remained a private matter between Miss Connolly and her betrothed—"

Caleb pointed a finger at Aaron. "He is a deserter!" he objected, "and I can prove it!"

"Judging by his speech and manner I doubt that very much," he was told. "All that concerns me at this present moment is the fact that he is ready to marry Miss Connolly under less than ideal circumstances. In doing so he is helping settle a family feud and offering her escape, therefore I will not concern myself with the matter of his identity. Once we are finished I suggest this couple be allowed to continue about their business without fear of falling victim to any commerce in bounty which might interfere," the constable said dryly, glancing up at the men accompanying Caleb. "Am I making myself clear, _gentlemen_?"

Ceara watched them shift uncomfortably. "Yes, sir," the smaller one drawled, while the equally huge man at his side nodded his head.

"You are not to follow or harass this young couple in any way," he constable insisted. "Or I will run you out of the county myself."

"We were just following his lead," the one in charge answered, gesturing toward Caleb.

"I had to do what I felt was necessary in response to the reports of deserters in the area," Caleb defended himself, wincing at the constable's fierce glare.

"Then that is settled!" Ceara breathed, relaxing her grip on Aaron's jacket. "Now let us go about our way," she suggested to the constable, ignoring Caleb.

"Not until we settle the matter of your status," he insisted, shifting his attention to Aaron. "That is, if you are in agreement."

She stared at him in surprise, glancing up at Aaron, whose expression was impassive. She flung a hand in Caleb's direction. "But surely, Your Honor, you cannot expect us to be forced to comply with what is obviously _his_ extortion of the matter!"

"If it puts an end to your feuding I do," he answered coolly. "Otherwise I will be forced to focus my concentration upon your violation of curfew, suspicious attire and behavior, and finally the actual identity of your fiancé here."

"You do both look suspicious," Caleb chuckled, eyeing her baggy pants and man's coat.

She gasped in outrage. "Our freedom is not something to be manipulated for _anyone's _amusement!"

"Don't forget your brother-in-law _is_ theoretically responsible for your protection," the constable stated.

"And 'manipulation' is a rather difficult term to legally define," Caleb countered, smiling up at the bounty hunters.

Ceara groaned in frustration as Aaron leaned toward her. "No use arguing with them," he warned softly, his jaw tightening.

"You mustn't risk his desire growing cold with the delay," Caleb snorted.

Ceara watched Aaron straighten to his full height and turn to the constable. "I believe we are ready now."

"Do proceed, Your Honor," Caleb balked, eyeing Ceara. "And the sooner the better."

The constable lifted his book and took a step closer. "Are you both in agreement?"

"As long as he acts of his own free will and agrees to hold no grudge toward me," Ceara insisted, despite being painfully aware of their lack of freedom.

"I so agree," he answered, glancing at Caleb. "And I insist upon Mr. Godwin relinquishing all claims of authority over Miss Connolly and from henceforth leaving us alone—testifying so by giving his solemn word, of course."

Caleb spread his arms wide. "I am a man of my word, which everyone knows but the two of you!"

The constable nodded, glancing up at the bounty men. "You, sirs are to act as witnesses, after which I advise you to find lodging for the remainder of the night and by morning henceforth remove yourselves from this jurisdiction."

They looked at each other a moment. "All right—there's no money to be made 'round here," the smaller man decided.

"I ain't never been witness to a wedding before," the other teased. "And we didn't even dress up for the occasion."

"We could use a horse," Aaron stated meaningfully as he glared at Caleb. "You might consider it partial payment on the balance of her dowry."

"Anything to see you quickly on your corporate way," Caleb grumbled. "Consider it a wedding gift!"

Ceara bit back a retort, her eyes flooded with tears of humiliation, not only for her sake but for Aaron's as well. Like him, she was suddenly eager to fulfill their obligation and leave. As the constable began to recite the civil marriage ceremony her thoughts went to Mr. Masters and Captain Burke, both of whom must still be hidden somewhere nearby. Aaron, she could see in her peripheral line of vision, stood with his hands clasped together behind his back, apparently resigned to their fate. The ceremony was quickly officiated while she listened somewhat distractedly. Her heart sank at the grim resolve in his voice as he repeated his vows after the constable. Dipping her chin into the upturned collar of her jacket, she was suddenly too ashamed to look at him. The wind had shifted and now beat at them in cold gusts, forcing her to hug herself to keep from shivering.

_Now you've done it,_ she chided herself, _your girlish plan to use him to play the part of your fiancé has now turned on you both! Worse, whatever important work Aaron must resume would now be hampered by her unplanned and no doubt unwanted presence. And there was Caleb, witnessing it all! _

Steeling herself to look up at the man who would be her husband, she recited her vows feeling like a hypocrite. How could Aaron do anything but regret agreeing to this charade? Even if he was able to escort her to her brother's fort, would it not then be better for all concerned if they filed for an annulment and go their separate ways? Yet even as she considered this the prospect of never seeing him again made her feel strangely bereft and depressed.

_So much for choosing your own husband,_ she thought gloomily.

There was a sudden, pregnant silence, and she shot a glance at the constable. He was staring at her in challenge, and she swallowed nervously, knowing it must be time for any objections to be voiced. Well aware of Caleb's mocking stare, she glanced up at Aaron, half expecting him to be the one to object. She could hardly blame him, feeling guilty for her stubbornness and willful ways which brought them both to this moment. Thankfully the constable continued without much more of a pause. She thought of Cecily and wondered how Caleb might explain himself, imagining how he would fare once her sister discovered his role in the matter. Still, as she recalled their elaborate and beautifully executed wedding her heart squeezed with pain. Comparing her wedding to Cecily's found this sadly lacking in all prospects.

She jumped when the constable snapped his handbook shut. Shivering more earnestly, she watched him turn and search his saddlebags for the document he was adjuring them to sign in order to legitimize their union. Then she felt a hand touch her arm and looked up.

Aaron's eyes caught hers in their silvery grip and she started mutely at him, telling herself that she was only imagining the pleading she read there. In an instant she understood that he was waiting for her acceptance, maybe even possibly seeking her approval, even after what she had just put him through. The expression on his face confirmed it, for his lips had parted slightly and the hardness had left his demeanor. Her eyes widened in surprise but before she could respond a pen was held toward him as the constable held out the document for him to sign. She watched as he pursed his lips and concentrated upon signing it, passing it to her without a word. After a moment's hesitation she signed her name opposite his, noting the bold script of his handwriting which she could not decipher.

_Do I even know his real name?_ she wondered with a rising sense of panic. She realized all the details about him of which she was unaware, from his background to the well formed quality of his handwriting. Even more threatening were the next few hours which hung before them. What would he do next, she wondered, now that they were truly married?

The constable waved the document to dry the ink, turning to Caleb and then the witnesses for their signatures. Caleb's eyes were hooded and brooding as he signed without as much as a sidewards glance. Ceara had the distinct impression that she was being auctioned off to the first bidder, at least in Caleb's view. After the bounty men made their marks and turn to leave, she watched the constable tuck their license back into his bag before he too mounted stiffly. Caleb moved to his side to request a ride back to town and began to climb up behind him. She was vaguely aware of Aaron standing at her side, holding the reins of Caleb's horse. Then the constable glanced down at him with a smirk.

"Oh, you may kiss the bride," he said gruffly as Caleb saluted.

Swallowing past the huge lump in her throat, she glanced up at the starry sky as she felt a hand touch her shoulder. Thankful for Aaron's reassuring gesture, she was startled by that same hand lifting to cup her cheek. Her eyes shot to his and she froze beneath the burning intensity of his gaze. Then he bowed his head and pressed his lips determinedly to hers. She lifted her hands to the lapels of his coat, holding on for support as her heart pounded from the firm onslaught of his lips. They molded against hers in earnest, as if seeking a response. Her eyes drifted shut as she concentrated completely upon the breathtaking feel of his mouth and the strong grip in which he held her close with one arm. Sliding her hands upward she found herself suddenly bereft as he drew back and released her, keeping her hand.

Tugging her after him, he stalked back toward the river with a long legged stride. Grabbing his arm with both hands, she stumbled after him, risking a backward glance at the others. Caleb sat behind the constable as both frowned and stared after them in silence. She gripped Aaron's arm tighter and followed him, hearing the others gallop away.

Once they stood near the bank of the river Aaron released her hand and moved away, curling a hand around the back of his neck as he stopped to stare out over the water. She hugged herself against the cold as the distant hoof beats of the horses faded into the sigh of the wind. The quieter lap of the water filled the silence of the night as she stared at Aaron's broad back and wondered what he must be thinking. As she wondered what to say or do she heard the sound of rustling in the undergrowth, then footsteps approaching them. Aaron turned in profile and she could see that his expression was guarded.

"You were right," Masters said to Captain Burke as they approached them, stopping a few paces before Aaron. Both men's eyes settled on Aaron. "He handled that masterfully."

"I agree," Burke said more gently, glancing toward Ceara. "I hope you know how eligible a bachelor you've just claimed Miss Connolly," he said, a genuine smile softening his craggy features. "Let me be the first to congratulate you both," he added, holding out a hand to Aaron.

As she moved closer she saw the momentary pause before Aaron gripped his hand and shook it. She stood at his side as John Masters added his blessing.

"Somehow I feel you've made the perfect match," he told her, his face lit by a rare smile. "Make best of it, you two."

"We should continue this discussion on the other side of the river," Aaron said soberly, nodding toward the river before he left her side to retrieve Caleb's horse, which had followed them and was grazing a short distance away. She looked to Captain Burke for help.

"He's already having regrets," she said softly, her stomach fluttering with nervousness. "How could I have done this to him?"

"It is nothing he cannot handle," Burke assured her with a grin, leaning closer. "And you might have just given him the one thing he so desperately needs."

She stared at him in surprise, noting Masters' shrug of innocence. "I don't understand," she said quietly.

Burke directed his attention to Aaron, who was already riding back toward them on Caleb's horse. "About time he started his own family," was his enigmatic reply.

Ceara cringed inwardly, knowing that theirs would never be a real marriage, despite what Captain Burke seemed to think. They had made a deal, nothing more, she reminded herself, shoving away the memory of his kiss. He stopped at her side and extended a hand toward her. Gazing up at him, she gripped it and found herself swung up by his powerful grasp. He planted her before him and steadied her with a gloved hand at her waist.

"I'll take the skiff downriver and we'll meet as agreed," Burke announced, tipping his hat to Ceara before turning and heading toward the boat hidden beneath the brush of the riverbank.

"How deep is the river?" Aaron asked Masters, his breath warming her temple. She stared at the water, sensing his gaze following hers.

"Only waist deep here, but you will have to cross before the bend," he was told as Masters pointed toward the horizon. "After that point it drops off several more meters."

Having decided to turn and ride astride, Ceara swung one leg over the horse's head and settled her heels lightly over the tops of his boots. While she shifted position he tightened his grip at her waist. When she gripped the pommel his arms came up around her, making her feel suddenly warm and safe. She glanced away, trying to ignore the feel of his thighs cradling hers even though she wore long johns beneath her woolen trousers. The heat of made her feel a blush rising up her neck but she forced a smile and glanced at Mr. Masters, who was watching her keenly, she noted.

"Thank you for all your help, John," she breathed with feigned anticipation for the journey. "Please say goodbye to Cecily for me?"

He nodded soberly. "I feel badly about you having to wait so long in the cold," he apologized. "We were held up but still you waited—it's more than most men I've known would do."

She shrugged, acutely aware of Aaron's silence and feeling the weight of his gaze. "I couldn't leave without knowing you were all safe," she explained, nodding toward Burke's skiff that was maneuvering out into the river. "I hid in the boat, under the blankets."

"Well, I better get back before anyone misses me," Masters sighed, looking up at Aaron. "Take care of our little miss now."

"I will," he agreed, "and thank you for all your help."

Masters nodded and left them to return to the stone wall. Aaron lifted the reins and guided the stallion toward the water. Tightening his arm around her waist, he coaxed the animal down the bank and into the water. Thankfully the current was slowed by the grip of ice interrupting its flow. They set off in quiet determination, following in the wake of Burke's skiff.

Keenly aware of their closeness she shifted forward and gripped the horse's thick mane, allowing Aaron's hand the pommel for support. But he caught her hands in his and pulled her back against him, forcing her to grip his forearms for balance.

"Hold onto me," he commanded softly, his lips at her ear. "It's safer."

She shivered at the warm touch of his breath upon her skin, obeying without realizing it by laying a hand upon his thigh. She could feel the hard muscles of his leg and the shift as he nudged the horse's flanks with his knee. Concerned about the height at which she perched and the threatening depth of the water she gripped the hand he had settled over the pommel. He seemed to tense, judging by the hard set of his jaw she could see from the corner of her eye. The lengthening silence between them made her feel increasingly guilty for all the trouble in which she had inadvertently involved him…especially the part about marrying her.

"I'm sorry," she said quietly, the words bringing tears of shame to her eyes. What must he think of her, she wondered, now that he had seen the more violent and rebellious side of her that Caleb always seemed to coax from hiding. And that was the least of her problems, she realized, slowly shaking her head. "I have no idea how Caleb managed to find out where I was, and I never imagined he would force you into _marrying_ me—"

"He didn't," he said thickly, glancing off toward the opposite bank of the river.

"Of course he did!" she choked, keeping her voice low. The black landscape was still and threatening, and she had the distinct feeling they were being watched. "I never meant to interfere with your work, Aaron—I know you cannot afford to be saddled with a wife, of all things—"

"Stop apologizing," he ordered in a soft but commanding voice.

"But I must!" she hissed, looking up at his stern profile. "We are _married _despite the fact that this was only to have been at the most an engagement!"

"We'll discuss this later," he ordered, his gaze ahead on Burke's skiff.

"But I don't want you to feel bound in any way—"

"I feel nothing of the sort!" he shot, finally looking at her. His face was very close to hers and she could feel the steely strength in that arm tightening meaningfully at her waist. "In fact," he breathed, "I intend to make the most of the arrangement."

She stared at him in shock, frustrated by the way his gaze shifted from bank to bank. "How could you possibly benefit from being _forced_ to marry me?"

His eyes narrowed on the boat ahead, his lengthy silence speaking volumes. She lowered her head in humiliation. Never having envisioned the future in this light, she had to admit her role in constructing it with her own stubborn determination to be in control. Cold, exhausted and emotionally spent she squinted against the tears threatening to spill from her eyes. She felt his hand clasp her waist and choked back a sob.

"Can you not admit it?" he breathed into her ear, startling her by both the contact and the husky drawl of his whisper. Gripping his arm she waited for an explanation, but he said nothing more. Unable to stand it any longer she looked up at him, finding his eyes glowing like molten silver in the moonlight. In his gaze she read a hint of longing, even more astounding, desire. As she watched his eyes lowered to her lips.

"Admit what?" she dared to whisper back, unconsciously tightening her grip on his leg. His eyes rose to hers again and he nudged the stallion, directing him to swerve toward their left.

Feeling herself falling, she held onto him as his elbows pressed into her sides, his knees against her thighs. With one forward glance toward the bend of the river he guided them up the bank and onto level ground. She glanced toward the river but saw no sigh of Burke.

"I too have need of a mate," he surprised her by saying, an edge of sarcasm in his tone. Speechless, she could only gaze up at him as she held onto him, not sure she wanted to hear what was about to be revealed. "I too have financial matters to settle, not unlike your transfer of dowry," he said just above a whisper. "Though I had not anticipated it our union makes sense financially, socially and," he paused, gazing down into her upturned face, "in other ways which will remain unspoken."

Cold fear churned in her stomach but she tightened her grip on his arm. "Our only _plan_ was to provide you an excuse for looking like a deserter and helping me get away—"

"That was before your brother-in-law interfered."

"I had no way of anticipating that!"

He shook his head slowly, his expression sympathetic. "You must trust your sister implicitly—"

"As a matter of fact I do!" she shot back.

"But her _husband_ is indeed a force to be reckoned with."

"Please Aaron," she wilted, "I beg your forgiveness for his interference—"

"You don't have to apologize for him—"

"We can file for an annulment, not being truly _bound_ to each other."

He pulled her up against his chest, holding her close. His lips were within a breath's distance from hers and she curled her fingers into his jacket. "Aren't we?" he whispered, again startling her with his complete change in mood.

Her heart pounded wildly as his eyes blazed down into hers. After a moment she slowly raised her palm to his whiskered cheek, for the first time studying the fine texture of his skin and light sprinkling of whiskers. She looked up into his eyes and had to agree with him. At last she felt she understood him, judging his moods to be a protest, not unlike her own.

_We're both Caleb's victims, _she realized, acknowledging how much more difficult it must be for him to have been placed in such a position. Relaxing her hands until they smoothed over his chest, she stretched up to kiss his cheek as if to answer him in the affirmative.

His arms came up and around her as she slid her hands around to his back to hold him. His comforting gesture made her bury her face against his neck, and she closed her eyes as she felt his chin nudge the top of her head. Breathing in his scent, she held him tightly, relishing their first hug of friendship. After a moment he chuckled softly, gently squeezing her.

"I will judge that the answer I sought," he breathed, holding her more loosely. "Who knows, maybe it will prove to be a blessing in disguise."

She opened her eyes, and pulled back just enough to look up at him. "Blessing?" she croaked, smiling in relief. "You obviously don't know me very well."

"I know enough," he nodded, glancing toward the ridge where Burke waited for them on horseback. "It's you who should fear what little you know of me."

She smoothed her hands down his arms as they rode on. "I know we both share a past of being imprisoned," she said gently, "though in very different ways."

"Then we'll take that as a good foundation," he agreed.

She studied his expression thoughtfully. This was the old Aaron she knew best, the man whom she had cared for and shared the past few weeks with. "Surely you had no plans of burdening yourself with a wife," she sighed tiredly, smiling up at him. "I'll try not to make you too miserable for however long it lasts."

"I cannot envision you as a burden," he whispered, his eyes probing hers, "whether you prove friend or wife."

His words dove straight into her heart, making her stomach and heart clench. Tears flooded her eyes again and she had to look away. "But you don't really know me," she whispered. "…not everything you've heard about me is gossip."

"I am a good judge of character," he said, gently cupping her cheek in his hand and turning her back to him, "as you will come to learn."

She swallowed against the lump in her throat, standing up t the warmth in his eyes. "But I'm not—" she choked, shaking her head slowly. "I'm not—fit, to be a wife," she croaked, "not even to you."

His brows rose as he studied her carefully. After a few moments his expression relaxed. "Let me be the judge of that."

Overwhelmed with the enormity of what he seemed to be saying, she realized that her vision of their marriage only extended toward a formality they would quickly dissolve once able to. Once he knew her better, and once she had the courage to be honest with him. But that was for another time, she knew. They were exhausted and freezing, and she could not help herself from wrapping her arms back around him and holding on for dear life as she buried her face against his collar, savoring the feel of his arms around her. They rode on without speaking, and she set aside every thought for the future which did not directly relate to finding shelter and whatever destination he and Burke had agreed upon.

_c. 2008 by Christine Levitt_


	10. Chapter 10 The Inn At Crow Meadow

_**Chapter 10 The Inn At Crow Meadow**_

Aaron handed her sleeping form down to Burke, who took her gently into his arms. As he dismounted stiffly he was aware of Burke's gaze as he waited. The exhausted horse sputtered in relief, sidestepping as he turned and reached for his wife. But Burke stepped back, nodding toward the dimly lit inn.

"You cannot afford to strain that wound or disturb her," he explained, eyeing the arm Aaron kept close to his healing side.

"She may frighten if she awakens suddenly," he whispered in protest.

"I doubt she will," Burke answered just as Ceara tucked her head against his shoulder with a soft moan of protest. Their eyes met before he turned away, leaving Aaron to lead the horse off toward the stables. One backward glance told him the door had already closed behind them, and the wick in the lantern in the window had been raised. Sighing with exhaustion, he led the animal into the barn.

"Come, boy," he soothed, grimacing at the stitch in his side. "A meal and some rest will do you well."

Surprised at his weakness and lingering pain, he cast an upward glance at the star studded heavens and muttered a simple prayer, noting the deep bank of storm clouds crowding the horizon. The earth seemed to be holding its breath and he worried about being snowed in before they could move on. He hadn't mentioned the meeting being held in the morning to Ceara; in fact they had discussed little of the future they now faced together.

Once inside they were immediately enveloped in the warm fetid air of the barn, and he led the horse toward the back and opened the gate to the last empty stall. Eyeing the feedbag drooping from a hook he quickly unsaddled the stallion and filled it, brushing him while he ate. His thoughts drifted again and again back to their mock wedding and the ensuing discussion they'd shared. Always prepared for a challenge, he concentrated upon the new role he now faced, only this time it would require more than he had ever anticipated. So much more…

The horse turned his head as he munched contentedly, bobbing his head in thanks as Aaron laughed and patted his back. They were all exhausted and emotionally drained. His smile faded as he remembered Caleb's treatment of Ceara, reminded again of his own past struggles with family. He was certainly in no position to judge her situation, and chose instead to plan accordingly to make the best of it, as he had told her. He glanced with disdain toward the expensive saddle from Caleb's horse, knowing that if it were up to him he would send the animal back to its rightful owner once they reached their destination. But it was not his decision, he knew. Though it was a responsibility he had neither anticipated nor sought, taking Ceara away from her brother-in-law was a feat he secretly relished. He had met many men like Caleb Godwin and learned early on to avoid any indebtedness to such people. Yet if Ceara wanted to keep the horse, he would support her decision to do so.

Setting aside the brush, he slowly stretched his back as far as he dared, finally bidding the horse a good night. Closing the gate between them, he turned and started toward the inn, glancing at the sleeping workhorses on his way out. By the time he walked woodenly up the incline to the inn, he judged it to be about four hours before dawn. Stepping onto the first stair, he was startled to see Burke's face at the window. Quietly entering and closing the door behind him, he gazed at his captain's outstretched hand. In his weathered palm lay a room key. One glance around the foyer told him no one else was up and about. He took the key at the same time Burke yawned dramatically.

"You're not as fast as you used to be, son," Burke teased, glancing toward the mantle clock. "I can tell your age is catching up with you."

"You should know," he answered, heading toward the stairs. Never had he felt so ancient and worn out, but he was not going to admit it.

"Could be the nearly two decades you've been fighting," Burke said blandly, following him up the stairs. "By the way, she didn't even wake up."

He reached the second level and found the door number matching his key. Turning to Burke, he leaned a shoulder on the doorjamb, weak with exhaustion. "Thank you, for everything," he whispered.

Scratching his whiskered jaw, Burke nodded. "We meet at noon, downstairs in the private room."

Aaron inserted the key into the lock and turned it, the click sounding inordinately loud in the surrounding quiet. "I'll be there," he sighed as Burke turned to go to his own room.

"You're a married man now," he whispered with a smile, patting him on the back. "God give you courage."

Frowning, Aaron watched until he opened his own door, saluted and disappeared within.

Facing his own door, he opened it slowly and slipped inside, latching it behind him. While his eyes adjusted to the dim light of the small fire, he wearily pulled off his coat, noting the recessed alcove where the bed was shrouded in the shadows, the small window opposite the door, the double wardrobe and two upholstered chairs that faced the hearth. The room was cold and he moved silently to the hearth, bending to feed the fire. Rising stiffly, he moved back toward the bed, upon which lay the sleeping form of his wife. Standing and gazing down at her, he spent a few moments just listening to the soft sound of her breathing.

She was lying at the far edge of the bed, against the wall. Did Burke position her there, he wondered, or had she nudged into its protective corner on her own accord? Though he felt uncharacteristically awkward he found he could do little but drink in the sight of her in disbelief. He could see the outline of her lips curved into a tiny smile as she slept, both hands pressed together beneath her chin. Black lashes spread out like a delicate fan across the ridge of her high cheekbones, the light flickering over her perfect skin. One thick long braid was stretched across her baggy shirtfront, disappearing beneath the quilt laid over her. His eyes dropped to the floor, where her boy's boots stood waiting to be of service, and the thought of Burke possibly removing them for her brought an unexpected stab of jealousy to his heart. He closed his eyes, telling himself that he was being ridiculous; he had no right to be jealous of anyone. Which led him to confront the reality of his situation: he was now a married man. And that their marriage had, in effect, been a forced one.

Glancing toward the chairs, he wondered if he should maintain his distance and try sleeping elsewhere. What a crude bed the two unmatched pieces of furniture would provide should he position them seat to seat and try sleeping there. Truly they would offer little comfort, as would the hard planked floor. His side ached and he was swaying on his feet, so with his back to the fire he began to undress, eyes fastened upon her face. Regardless of their motivation, they were indeed a married couple and both in desperate need of a good night's sleep. They would need it in order to make it through the meeting the following day, not to mention the next few days of hard travel that awaited them.

Draping his shirt over a hook on the wall, he unfastened his trousers and peeled them off, comparing the size of his coat next to Ceara's and feeling like a robber of the cradle, so small were her things. Nevertheless he placed his boots next to her much smaller ones and bent a knee to the mattress before he stopped. Taking a slowly drawn in breath, he noted the orange glow of the firelight upon the walls enclosing the bed. His eyes traveled along her heavily blanketed form as he shivered involuntarily, studying her for any signs of awakening and finding none. As he climbed onto the bed he smiled at her peaceful expression, thinking it a distinct contrast to her normally fiery temperament. As he settled carefully upon his back with his head turned toward her, he thought of her legendary rejection of countless suitors and had to smile at his success. It didn't matter that Caleb had been in charge and saw to it that she had indeed married. With a contented sigh he drew the extra quilt over his chest, stretching his arm to extend its edge over her side. Nestling his head into the pillow he ordered his aching body to relax while he focused upon the sound of her breathing. It was a comforting sound, one he found most welcome after years of living alone. Resisting the urge to lean over and kiss her softly, he deepened his own breathing and thought to thank his God for providing not only a clean, dry place to sleep, but also for Ceara. Deep within himself he felt suddenly at peace, and therefore closed his eyes and surrendered his care until morning.

Ceara pulled her eyes open halfway with some effort, at first noting the dull gray light of dawn lighting the ceiling above her head. She felt deliciously warm, and so closed them again to return to sleep. The thought came to her that, strangely enough, her nose was cold despite the warmth enveloping her. Shrugging off the inconsistency, she snuggled closer to the source of heat at her side, her hand making contact with a warm, hard impediment. Her eyes shot open as she stared at the bare shoulder rising along the horizon, quickly snatching back her hand. Pushing her head back into her pillow she lifted her gaze along its width and came within the full use of her faculties. _Aaron!_

Staring at him in shock she realized she had not been dreaming. Her eyes shot up to his face, which was relaxed in repose. The thought crossed her mind that he looked much younger in sleep, a wave of dark hair swept across his forehead. His dark lashes were long, and she found herself grieving the loss of seeing his marvelous eyes. Dark stubble spread over his cheeks in contrast to the paleness of his skin, and as her gaze lowered down his throat to his chest she realized that although he seemed to be wearing his undergarment it was half unbuttoned, revealing dark hairs along his upper chest. Squeezing her eyes shut she slowly lowered er head back to her pillow and held her breath.

Where were they, and how did they get here? Though concentrating hard she found she could not remember anything past the sheltering comfort of his arms as they rode through the night. Trying to remain calm despite the fact that they were in bed together, she listened to the deep, slow paced breathing at her side, thankful that she was still fully dressed in her brother's old clothes. But as she opened her eyes and found them drawn back to his open shirt, she wondered about what lie beneath the quilt and how she could vacate his room without waking him.

In that moment his breathing caught and he stirred, turning his head toward her. Her brows lifted in expectation as she waited, but his eyes remained closed. He seemed to be searching for something, she thought, listening to his whispered protest of some half spoken, half breathed dream. Then the arm along her side moved and she found herself drawn closer. Choking back a gasp of shock, she planted her hand back on his chest to keep her balance. Pulling her toes up she realized then that they had been curled around his ankles. She froze, realizing that they must have slept in a half embrace through the night.

His hand sought and enclosed hers, drawing and holding it in place against his chest. Blushing profusely, she craned her head backward but could not escape his face nuzzling her hair as he sighed with satisfaction. Careful not to move, she waited as he settled further into sleep, his breathing slowing and deepening. As she waited something melted deep within her, even as his hand relaxed its hold on hers and slid back to his side. Though her mind struggled with the concept, she was overcome with the sense of rightness in their lying together. Yet still she fought the overwhelming change that had occurred just a few hours earlier. They were _married…  
_  
_But this is Aaron,_ the voice within her reminded, _the man you've grown to respect and trust. _The man in whose arms she had apparently slept undisturbed.

He whispered softly in his sleep, his breath tickling her earlobe. Shivering and moving away just enough so that he might not notice, she cocked her head to stare at him while he slept. That incoming beard had a captivating way of lining his lips in a most fascinating pattern, she realized, unable to keep from staring at the place where they parted just enough to reveal the edge of a row of finely shaped teeth peeking out. Her head swam with the memory of his kiss. Though their wedding had been a mockery, performed in the dead cold of night and under duress, he had sealed it with his kiss before a cynical constable and disgusted Caleb, not to mention the two thugs hired to track Aaron down like an animal. Without needing to Aaron had kissed her despite all that, bestowing his kiss with clear intent: it had been theirs to share, the only thing they could call their own. She had known it the moment he had given and all too briefly ended it.

Now, listening to his breathing, she lifted her eyes to his, suddenly eager to look into his eyes and discover what she most needed: how he really felt about her. She stared at his closed lids, willing him to open them yet afraid that he would. But he slept on, his face a bit pale in the growing light of day. There were fine lines of strain at the corners of his eyes and mouth, he noticed. His hair was tousled and a bit long despite the trim she had given him only days before. And then she remembered what it felt like to have his eyes upon her, lit with that thrilling spark of masculine interest. The time they had spent alone together flooded her memory, and she remembered his response to her as she had washed and rinsed his hair. The look of promise in his eyes had carried her through hours of worrying about his safety and praying he would not be captured and hanged for treason. She knew the children had hidden him, and she had lied through her teeth to the British scouts that had questioned everyone in the town, seeking some acknowledgement of the fact that he and his men had indeed passed through. But no one had said a word, not even the children who protected him with their innocent shrugs and polite smiles. The same children who packed up his things and food rations and snuck them to him at night.

Lost in thoughts of the past, it took her a moment to realize that as she lay with her hand tucked against his side she had once again begun to relax. And as if attuned to her slightest movement, he stretched himself toward her pillow, waiting in his sleep until she tucked her head beneath his chin and closed her eyes. He rubbed his jaw along her scalp and she felt him relax. Inhaling his scent, she prayed for their future and searched the depths of her memory for the Scriptures concerning marriage. With whispers upon her own lips, she drifted back to sleep, once again held safely in his loose embrace.

Sensing someone watching him, Aaron slowly turned his head toward the side door and saw that it was true. Narrowing his gaze upon Ceara's face across the distance separating them, his mind followed the discussion while attempting to interpret her expression. It seemed a perplexing mixture of irritation, yearning and relief which caused his heart to accelerate and pound more heavily.

"We cannot continue in this fashion without a serious breach of security," Burke emphasized, his words quickly engulfed in a chorus of objections as those present voiced their opinions, completely out of order.

Deciding that they had long gone beyond the point of fruitful negotiations, Aaron rose from his chair, his eyes holding hers as he started toward the door. "Excuse me," he interrupted, aware of Burke's quick glance and frown of disapproval. The argument grew more heated, and it was clear that he would not, for the moment, be missed. Nodding to her before he stepped out into the hallway, he closed the door behind them, holding her pleading expression.

"I didn't mean to interrupt you—" she said quietly, laying an apologetic hand upon his arm.

He glanced down at it, deciding he liked the familiarity of her gesture. Meeting her upturned gaze, he stretched his hand over hers and led her toward the parlor. "I needed the interruption," he answered, nodding toward the small room at the opposite end of the corridor. "We can speak privately in there."

"It was just that I had no idea where you'd gone, and could find no one to ask," she told him as they entered the parlor. He followed her toward the hearth, where she stopped to hug herself against the cold. Bending to lay a few pieces of wood upon the fire, he straightened and forced himself to keep from embracing her. Having held her in his arms over the past day and night, he was already accustomed to doing so while in private.

"I'm sorry I had to leave," he said, stretching an arm toward the sofa. She seated herself, half turning in order to face him. "I should have left a note—"

"It is fine," she said, waving a hand and glancing back toward the meeting room. "How long have you all been arguing with each other?"

He stared at her a moment, then laughed. "For at least a half hour."

She smiled impishly. "Something tells me I haven't the right to ask why."

"That is correct: you don't."

"I see…not even a little hint?"

"I'm afraid not.'

"Then can you tell me how much longer you will be detained?"

He sighed in frustration. "No doubt for some time—did you find a tray delivered to the room?"

She nodded. "Yes, thank you. It was a delicious stew and roll. You dined earlier?"

"Some time ago," he said, gesturing toward the bookshelves. "You could explore the library while you're here."

Her brows lifted as she reached for the top book on a small stack at her side. She looked from its cover up to his waiting gaze. "Michael Wigglesworth's The Day of Doom," she read, opening the volume and leafing through a few pages before snapping it closed. "I think not."

He smiled and handed her another. "Perhaps you might find this more interesting."

"You've read it?" she remarked, noting his nod and opening it to read: "A Key Into the Languages of America, by Roger Williams…perhaps I'll try this one for now."

He bowed his head and watched while she perused the first few pages, her eyes eventually lifting to his in mild surprise. "Really, Aaron, you need not waste your time sitting here while the future of the colony is being argued a few doors down."

"It's hardly that vital a meeting," he said, "and I enjoy your company far more."

She smiled with pleasure, closing the book and setting it aside. He watched her smooth down the oversized trousers she wore as carefully as if they were made of the finest silk. "The bath was most welcome as was this extra set of clothing, though I dare not ask where you procured it."

"The innkeeper's son has long since outgrown them," he explained. "Did you meet the family?"

She shook her head. "I slept rather late and when someone rapped on the door they were gone by the time I opened it. All I saw was the clothing set outside it, and the bath waiting down the hall."

"Discreet service is why we chose this place," he told her, "I took my own bath quite early." To his great interest she blushed and looked away.

"Then perhaps we might have supper together, if you have finished," she suggested.

"I look forward to it; by then the others will have left."

She looked up from her lap. "Captain Burke as well?"

"Yes, though I requested his accompanying us further, he is not at a liberty to do so."

She seemed to tense, he noted. "We will be going on alone?"

He smiled in an effort to allay her fears. "You think I might not be able to protect you myself?"

"Of course not," she huffed, "I am quite capable of defending myself."

"Really," he said, leaning back against the cushion and enjoying their interaction immensely. "How so?"

She glanced toward the closed doors down the hall before leaning closer. He caught the flowery scent of her hair, despite the fact that it was once again bound tightly into one thick braid. What would it look like, he wondered, left to flow freely around her shoulders?

"I nearly won the marksman's competition the past two years," she whispered with a grin. "The only female competitor."

He looked up into the dark blue of her eyes, his heart beginning to race. "I would have liked seeing that," he admitted, "but hopefully gunshots will not be necessary."

She picked up the book once again. "Then the journey is not all that dangerous?"

He looked away and began to get to his feet. "God willing, not any more than usual."

She got up. "You have to return to your meeting; I hope I haven't delayed you too long."

He turned at the threshold. "I'll come up to the room as soon as I can," he said, looking away.

"Aaron."

Her voice stopped him, and he turned back to face her, one hand on the door. "Yes?"

She swallowed, her expression guarded. "If at any time you regret your deal with Caleb, I will know it."

Astonished at her statement, he gathered his thoughts and nodded curtly. "So will I."

He turned and faced the meeting room, striding toward it without a look back. Expelling a tense sigh, he was not sure which was proving to be the more difficult meeting, the one to which he returned, or the one he just left.

_c. 2008 by Christine Levitt_


	11. Chapter 11 The Flight

_**Chapter 11 The Flight**_

As soon as the door to the meeting room closed behind him, Ceara turned with a sigh of resignation, reaching for the book he'd suggested. Telling herself that he could not be detained too much longer, she set aside the encounter and forged into the first page of the book he'd last suggested. As she did so the unusual quiet of the inn troubled her. Should an inn not be bustling with activity, she wondered as she sighed and turned the page. Settling into the corner of sofa, she attempted to relax as she listened to the soft crackle of the fire and faint ticking of the mantle clock. Turning another page, she entered the private world of the author's, momentarily forgetting her surroundings, yet as her eyes traveled over the next few pages she found she could not shake the feeling that all was not as it should be. Losing touch with the author's detailed explanation of native culture and languages, her thoughts drifted back to her own words with Aaron. With her conscience pricking her, she lowered the book and glanced up at the clock: only five minutes had passed. It was no use.

Shutting the book and setting it aside, she evaluated their encounter and admitted her mistake. Accustomed to judging herself in order to avoid the judgment of others, she reddened with remorse and decided she must somehow take back what she had said to him. Yet even as she made that decision she knew it was too late. Her own words kept replaying in her mind, coming back to haunt her: _If at any time you regret your deal with Caleb, _she had warned him, _I will know it._

Dropping her face into her hands, she shook her head. "Whatever possessed me to say such a thing?" she whispered to the silent room.

Yet, after a few moments spent indulging in remorse and guilt she straightened her posture and sighed with renewed determination. Gazing toward the fire, she mentally reviewed the entire scene in her mind. She could still see his reaction, the way his brow had furrowed, tiny crinkles appeared at the corners of his eyes as his lips pursed in frustration. The steely grey intensity of his eyes still burned into her soul, as did the hoarse reply with which he had taken up her challenge: _So will I._

"Why couldn't you just keep that to yourself?" she whispered, rising to go to the window. She stood there looking out at the still landscape, watching the sun slip below the ridge, its red-gold orb sinking into the black foothills. Huge dark clouds were gathering, helping to hasten the fading light of day. A few flakes of snow drifted lazily from the threatening sky against the dark backdrop of the forest rimming the property. As she contemplated her relationship with Aaron something caught her eye, the flit of a dark shadow out along the distant corral. As she leaned closer to peer out she saw someone dart from behind the shed to the chicken coop. With her breath clouding the glass she noted the spot, glancing toward the last golden thread of the sun before it disappeared from sight.

Turning away, she went to stand at the threshold of the parlor, gazing toward the opposite end of the hall and wringing her hands. Should she mention what she saw to Aaron? Was it even worth mentioning? Yet what if the figure outside posed some kind of threat to them all? Trying to calm her racing thoughts she reasoned that it might be the young man whose clothes she had borrowed and now wore. Perhaps it was only a childish game, she told herself, hardly worthy of interrupting the meeting. Telling herself it had to be someone in the family out there, perhaps trying to frighten a fox away from the chickens.

Planting her hands upon her hips she decided she must do something as she waited for Aaron to finish, yet reading was obviously not going to pass the time. She was too distracted, and she needed to do something productive and useful. Go through her things and make sure everything was in order? But no, that would mean returning to their room, which was quite cold, making her shiver not only from the cold but in anticipation of the night ahead, when they would be alone without Captain Burke and the others to distract them. And it was only; their second night together as a married couple.

She moved closer to the fire, holding out her hands toward its warmth as she tried to remember what had actually transpired the night before. Vaguely remembering Captain Burke's voice bidding her a quiet goodnight, she had to conclude that he must have carried her up to the room while Aaron saw to Caleb's horse. But she was unable to remember him coming in afterward, aside from the impression that before his arrival she had slept fitfully in the cold room, clutching the quilt to her chin in an effort to keep warm.

_You snuggled into your husband's warmth, practically sleeping in his arms…so warm and inviting..._

At that thought her stomach clenched in nervousness, for she knew that it was true. Upon waking she had found herself curled around him. But tonight they would enter their room fully awake to confront the prospect of sleeping together. Last night they had been exhausted and shared each other's warmth for survival. Surely they could not sleep in their traveling clothes again, could they? If not, how would they change into their nightclothes, in private or together? Should she ask him to sleep on the floor, or between those two uncomfortable looking chairs? Pacing once again, she dismissed both ideas as inconsiderate and unfair. They needed to rest for the sake of resuming travel on the morrow, and sharing the bed was the most logical solution. Perhaps she could change into her nightgown in the bathroom, or ask him to extinguish the lantern in order to change. Somehow she sensed all of these plans would irritate Aaron, and she knew she was being silly. There was nothing between them, and theirs was a marriage of convenience. Yet even as she told herself those very things, she could hear his whisper the night they left her home: _"Can you not admit it?" _he'd whispered intimately into her ear. _The attraction, the fascination between them_.

With a sudden flash of truth she saw herself spreading her fingertips over his muscular chest, admiring his strength after she'd slept with his heartbeat under her temple. Her body tingled with forbidden excitement as she quickened her pacing. He was going to make her admit it, she knew. It was only a matter of time. And when she did, what would be the consequences?

"I am being ridiculous," she whispered, coming to her senses. What did she have to worry about? After all, she had nursed him and seen him half naked for weeks. For his part, Aaron was comfortable in her presence, but she had yet to reach that point herself. He was a gentleman, she reasoned, and he would respect her modesty with consideration. His stated acceptance of their union was surely a reaction to an intensely emotional night, thanks to Caleb. They would deal with their attraction to each other, and in due time. His friendship meant a great deal to her, and she had to agree that it was a good foundation upon which to build a marriage. Even a marriage of convenience.

_Friendship?_ a voice argued in her conscience. _Is that all you want with a man like him? Admit it, besides being a good man and valuable friend, he is incredibly attractive. You want him, and he knows that you do..._

Slowly lowering herself back to the sofa, she stared into the fire, her mind troubled but her heart soaring. "I do," she whispered, admitting it to herself for the first time.

_And you already slept together…_

A strange calm settled over her as she remembered every detail, smiling to herself. "And I didn't knock him senseless or run away."

Suddenly startled by shouts of protest coming from the opposite end of the hall, she gripped the edge of the sofa and listened. Something had gone horribly wrong with Aaron's meeting, she knew the instant she had heard it. And there had been a tension in him she'd noted when eyeing him across the meeting room which persisted until he'd returned to the session. When she heard a loud crash she jumped up and rushed to the door. The shouting was accompanied by sounds of breaking glass and she rushed into the hall, pressing back into the shadows when the door burst open and two men ran out. Covering her mouth at the sight of Indians she backed down the corridor, staring at the fistfights she could see inside the room. Praying for Aaron's safety, she knew better than to interrupt a fight and instead turned and headed toward the sound of voices at the opposite end of the inn. Rushing toward the smell of dinner cooking, she approached the kitchen area, once again stopping abruptly.

"Let me go, Ma—I've got to help them!" a young man's voice hissed in protest as she pressed back against the wall just outside the kitchen. She could still hear the distant sounds of the fighting as she wondered what kind of people the innkeepers were. Surely they must be Aaron's friends, but she was torn with indecision as to what to do next. "I'm going—" the young voice insisted.

"Stay out of their business or your father will beat us both senseless!" a woman pleaded, her voice just above a whisper. "You got their things from the room and that's enough! Just take them downstairs, according to plan—"

"But Pa might hurt him—and I promised to take care of his brother!"

Knowing somehow that he meant her, Ceara moved toward the kitchen and revealed herself. "What is happening?" she whispered, noting the fear upon their faces as they stood staring at her. Then the young man surged toward her, grabbing her arm.

"There you are! I've been looking all over for you!" he hissed, catching up a lantern as he called back to his mother, dragging Ceara after him. "If you see him tell him we've already gone down!" he added.

Despite her protests he shoved her back down the hall and turned into another one. They heard more shouting, this time in different languages. Clawing at the boy's hand, she could not pry it from the grip he held her in. He pulled open a door beneath a stairwell and pushed her toward the stairs.

"Let me go—I've got to find Aaron!" she ordered, resisting his efforts to hurry her down the stairs.

"My pa can't see _either_ of you!" he warned in a hiss. "He'll meet us below, if he can!"

"Where is he?" she whispered back, stumbling after him. As they descended she heard heavy steps moving toward the kitchen, then the harsh call of a gravely voice answered by the boy's mother. Undeterred, her guide only increased their speed despite the dim light of the lantern he held aloft.

"Who are you?" she whispered, barely able to keep her balance on the stairs. They reached the bottom and turned a corner, pressing through a narrow passage into a storeroom and beyond, into another corridor. "Answer me!" she hissed sneezing from the musty dampness and odor of root vegetables.

"Quiet!" he spat, dragging her along behind him. "I'm taking you someplace safe—"

At that moment they heard distant shots and he stopped abruptly, turning to her. "I have to go—wait over there by that barred door an keep out of sight until Aaron comes for you!" he ordered softly, turning to leave her after he placed the lantern on a barrel.

"Wait!" she hissed, watching him retrace his steps. "Don't leave me!"

"Hide somewhere and keep quiet," he ordered before mounting the stairs again. She heard the door above close and his steps pound back down the corridor. Panting with fear she gazed around the room before lowering the wick of the lantern until she was in virtual darkness. With pounding heart she whispered prayers for Aaron to be spared any violence, as well as for the boy and his family and Captain Burke. Crawling beneath a worktable she sat upon the floor and waited for Aaron. As the minutes lengthened and silence prevailed, she sighed into the silence and crawled out from her hiding place. Her legs were cramped and she stretched her back, ignoring the voice in her head yet again. _He said to hide…_

Picking up the lantern she began to explore the stores of dried food and preserves, noting the barrels of grain and beans which looked as if they were meant to feed a small army. Touching the barricaded door behind which she could hear the wind whistling, she noted how things were standing up against it almost as if to indicate it was not in use. Most likely another exit meant to provide quick escape for people like her husband, she thought, or at the very least terrified settlers hiding from other threatening forces of frontier life. Staring at the rusty latch, she guessed that if she explored further she would eventually find herself aboveground at its end. Setting aside the brooms, skis and poles piled in front of it, she tugged and found the wood warped. When at last it yielded a rush of cold air hit her in the face, extinguishing the lantern and plunging her into complete darkness. _Oh no…_

Forcing herself to breathe normally, she closed it again and began to feel her way back toward her hiding place. At the sudden sound of a footstep she froze, listening intently. Someone was coming, and when she heard a thud she hid behind a trunk. Pressed against the stone wall, she shook with fear as the door creaked open, followed by a prolonged silence. When she heard another step she moved slowly toward the tunnel door, only to be stopped when a hand clamped over her mouth.

Screaming in fear she found herself dragged up against a solid form before he turned her easily, pinning her back against the wall. She pounded and kicked at him, her screams muffled by his hand. Then the arm around her tightened, cutting of her breath as she found herself lifted and carried into the cold tunnel. Kicking and pounding his back, she heard a grunt of pain before she was abruptly set down and shoved against the dirt wall of the tunnel. The skin at the back of her neck prickled in warning as warm breath huffed against her ear.

"It's me!" he whispered, causing her to tremble in response. Already hitting him with her fists she realized whose voice it was and stopped, staring up at the dark silhouette bent over her. "Don't make a sound!"

Her fingers went from clawing at his chest to gripping his shirt like a lifeline as his hand lifted from her mouth and his arms loosened. Panting with a mixture of fear and joy, she gripped him with both hands. "Aaron! What are you—"

"Shhh!" he hissed, pressing his fingertips to her lips as he turned his head. They both listened, hearing only the sound of their own breathing. She swallowed as he lifted his finger and drew back, reaching for her hand. "We have to leave now," he whispered; "this is the only way—"

"But I heard shots—"

"Shhh!" he warned again, guiding her back toward the storeroom. "Can you find the lantern?"

"I think so—" she gasped, hearing another shot from far away. It echoed eerily through the tunnel, despite the rush of wind.

He took her arms in his hands, his body on alert. "Never mind, we cannot afford to go back."

She gripped jacket, vaguely aware that it was not the same one he'd worn before, but of a heavier, coarser fabric. "But I'm afraid of the dark," she half pleaded, half laughed, feeling a bit hysterical with fear.

He guided her back into the storeroom, pausing when his foot hit a barrel rim. "Where is it?"

Feeling her way past him, she headed toward where she remembered leaving it, hearing the sound of a flint strike. Touching the handle, she snatched it up and turned to face him just as a tiny flame flickered within the folds of a rag he had somehow found and wrapped around a piece of wood. She set the lantern down on a barrel top and lifted the glass, turning up the wick. He touched the makeshift torch it and waited until it caught. Glancing up at the dim blur of his face, she held his black gaze. His face looked grim in the meager light.

"Are you all right?" he whispered, his eyes boring into hers.

She nodded, looking away to set the glass back in place. "And you?"

She was aware of him shaking out the tiny torch and stamping it into the dirt floor as he glanced over his shoulder toward the passageway. "We must hurry," he breathed, turning back to her and looking unsure for the first time since she had met him. "I'm sorry to involve you in all this."

"What happened, Aaron?" she whispered, grasping his sleeve. "Where is Burke?"

"Long gone by now," he answered, handing her the lantern and nodding toward the door. "You lead the way."

"Me? But—"

"No time to argue," he whispered. "Let's go!"

She moved past him and stepped into the tunnel, worried by the alarm she sensed in him. He had rarely exhibited any form of fear, and now that he did it scared her. When he latched the door behind them she felt something close to panic. Did he even know where the tunnel led? she wondered.

"There are two bends along the way," he panted, "it's a long way to the first, but after the second it's only a matter of steps to the ladder that leads up and outside."

She nodded, holding the lantern high as she started off, eager to put as much distance between them and the inn as possible. Whatever had happened involved gunshots, and made her extremely worried, not to mention seeing the Indians who must have forced their way into the meeting. As she hurried along the rough floor of the tunnel she saw thick cobwebs overhead, telling herself that the spiders were not interested in them. Aaron followed closely behind her, his hand on her shoulder as they scurried along, disturbing the small furry residents of the tunnel. Cellars had never been her favorite places, and judging by Aaron's breathing he shared her distaste for the damp, creepy underworld of such places. Her own breathing grew labored and she sensed they were ascending as they went. After a few moments he was gasping for breath and for the first time she wondered if he had been hurt in the fighting. Then she remembered that he had not answered her when asked if he was all right. She was about to speak when she thought better of it, for they must keep as quiet as possible. Hopefully no one with ill intent would be waiting for them outside, she worried.

"Hurry Ceara," he gasped, curling his hand over her shoulder and gently pushing her along. His voice sounded like a wheeze as his breathing quickened. Something was wrong, but it was not until he stumbled that she could be sure of it. Ahead she could see the bend in the tunnel he had mentioned, and the hand on her tightened painfully. He choked just as she whirled on him, lifting the lantern higher as she gasped in fear at what she saw.

"Aaron—what's wrong?" she hissed as he clutched his throat and fell back against the stone wall.

"It's—I can't—," he gasped between wheezes, shaking his head. To her astonishment, his eyes were wild and he groaned as if in pain.

Setting the lantern down she gripped his upper arms." You're hurt! We'll go back for help—"

"No!" he hissed, catching her hands. "Keep going," he panted, closing his eyes. "Just go..."

"Not without you!" she hissed, searching his face and smoothing her hands down his jacket. "Where are you hurt?"

"—not!" he gasped, fighting to breathe as he surged away from the wall. "Get us out," he choked, "fast!"

She stared at him as he fell back, slumping into the wall and closing his eyes. Surging forward she gripped his coat and pulled with all her might until he straightened. "Come on!" she urged, noting his increasing panic. Yet somehow, when he looked her in the eye he seemed to come to his senses and gripped her arm. She half dragged him to the lantern, bending to pick it up as he leaned heavily into her side. Stumbling to the bend she guided him around the corner, panicking when he dropped his head and continued to gasp for air. She could see perspiration standing out on his forehead despite the colder air, but she concentrated on what he had said about the exit. Lifting the lantern with difficulty, she glanced ahead and thought she could see a shaft of faint light some distance away.

He groaned with pain and staggered sideways, dragging them to a halt. Again he fell back against the wall as she put the lantern down.

"We're almost there!" she encouraged, gripping his lapels despite the fact that he raised his arms and covered his face.

"No…!" he choked, hands over his face. "Go—on—"

"Not without you!" she croaked, her eyes filling with tears. Frustrated, she shoved him higher against the wall. "Come on!"

"Leave me," he moaned, resisting her.

"Get up!" she hissed. "It's just a few more steps!"

He was gasping for breath as he resisted her. "Leave me!"

"I need you, Aaron," she insisted, shaking him as hard as she could. "We are both leaving this foul place now!" she hissed, wondering if she should slap the panic from him. Clearly he was in the grip of some dark fear, and that had always worked with her other patients.

"Go!" he commanded just as she shoved him back and pinned him to the wall. His eyes blazed in anger, revealing an Aaron she did not recognize.

He knocked her hands away but she shot up onto her toes and gripped his shoulders. Then pressing her lips to his she kissed him in desperation, cutting off both their breathing. Stiffening under her onslaught, he held himself immobile as she leaned into him, sliding her hands up his chest, one hand caressing the stubble cheek she felt beneath a gentling caress. He slumped toward her then and she broke the kiss, staring up at him. Still in shock, he didn't move. Encouraged, she rose against him to gently nibble his lower lip with hers, pulling back to study him. His hard stare broke and she saw his gaze lower to her mouth as he shuddered and took a deep shuddering breath, then another. Smiling hesitantly up at him, she lowered herself back to the dirt floor as she slid her hand down his chest, waiting for him to look back into her eyes. When he did his expression told her that somehow she had reawakened the real Aaron, and he closed his eyes and bent his head. Then he raised his arms and gripped her tightly, dropping his forehead to her shoulder. She hugged him fiercely and after a moment he straightened and glanced toward the end of the tunnel, swallowing with some difficulty as he nodded.

"Get the lantern," he ordered softly, easing her away.

She did so as he turned and started toward the ladder, leaving her to hurry after him. When they reached the ladder he gripped it tightly and turned to gaze down at her, his jaw set hard

"I'll see if it's safe," he whispered. "Wait here."

She nodded, holding the lantern high as he began to climb. There were over a dozen rungs, and she bit her lip as he reached the top and struggled with the latch. After considerable effort it finally snapped. Holding her breath as he planted a hand on the cover and shoved up against it, she shoved aside the fear that if it would not yield they would be forced to go back the way they'd come. And she wondered what that might do to Aaron.

As if reading her mind he suddenly paused to gaze down at her, his eyes narrowing upon her upturned face. Feeling guilty for doubting him, she pretended to lower the wick of the lantern in expectation of his opening the trap door. She heard him resume his work and the welcome sound of its muted thud as it flipped up and over onto the surface of the earth. Glancing up, she watched a shower of snow sprinkle down on top of him, shivering in the cold draught of wind swooshing into the comparable warmth of the tunnel. Then he was climbing up and leaning halfway out to survey the world above, his whispered order immediately obeyed.

"Put out the light."

Blowing forcefully into the glass she plunged them into darkness and bent to set it down. Reaching out to touch the bottom rung of the ladder, she gripped it and looked up, waiting for his signal.

"Come," he whispered, and she began the climb after him.

Above her head he slipped out and momentarily disappeared. Trying to concentrate on climbing, she saw his dark silhouette as he bent toward her, stretching out a hand to her. She climbed the rest of the way and gripped it tightly, letting him pull her out until she was kneeling beside him in the snow. He held a crouching position as she clutched his arm. Turning from a quick survey of their dark surroundings, he replaced the cover and she helped him spread snow over it to conceal its location. They moved silently through the snow to the barn, hardly believing what short distance they'd covered despite what seemed like an endless journey through the tunnel. He slid an arm around her shoulders as she glanced back at the inn, seeing only a dim glow of light coming from the front. Every other window was black and it appeared no one was up. Strange, she thought, in so short a time they had already retired for the night.

He squeezed her shoulder and she looked up as he nodded toward the back of the barn, and they crept along the far side, keeping in the shadows. He found a door in the back and pushed it open, taking her hand to lead her inside after he scanned the interior. Finally closing the door behind them, he lowered his lips to her ear, his arm around her waist.

"Wait here," he whispered, glancing toward the center of the barn. "Don't move until you hear me outside."

Reaching up to touch his whiskered jaw she rose on tiptoe and kissed him briefly, noting his pause as he stared down at her as if shocked at her gesture. But then he slipped off toward the stalls, and she leaned out from the tack room just enough to see him circling Caleb's horse, watching until he had him saddled and was leading him toward the front doors. Praying that no one would come along and see him, she moved toward the door they had entered and waited until she heard the sound of the hooves.

While she waited she thought back to the incident in the tunnel, insisting that she had done the right thing. Kissing him had been a necessity, for it had had snapped him out of whatever grip of terror he suffered. It was as simple as that.

At the sound of the soft plodding of hooves she opened the door and eased out, closing it behind her. He was already mounted, and reached down to offer her a hand up. Gripping it tightly, she noted the thick saddlebags behind his leg before placing her boot atop his. He lifted her easily enough and she reached for the pommel, swinging her leg over the saddle and settling into the space between his legs. His arms came up around her as he turned the horse, urging him up the hill and into the woods. Snow was falling heavily and clung to their hair and shoulders. Moving quickly and soundlessly away through the dense cover of the brush, they continued to climb toward a distant ridge. Finally feeling a sense of relief, she was startled by the heavy drape of something settling over her shoulders and reached up. It was a woolen blanket he set around her, as well as one side of his cloak which he used to cover her shoulder to shelter her from the snowfall. She hugged his back and half turned toward him, feeling his hand return to her waist while she gripped his leg for support. Somehow he had gained a pair of heavy gloves, but she did not ask him where he had found them.

They rode on, soon gaining the top of the ridge, from which the sight of the inn nestled far below in the valley looked deceptively cozy and warm. Thankfully the wind was dying down nd a lazy snowfall seemed much less threatening. He tightened his arm around her, making her look up at him in silence. She only wished she could see his face more clearly, but that was not possible in the dark cover of the forest.

"I was a prisoner of war at one time," he finally said just above a whisper. Surprised by what she sensed was a very important disclosure about his past, she studied his shadowed expression and waited, knowing that it would in some way explain what had happened to him in th tunnel. She heard him swallow hard and curled her hand over his, eager to learn every detail she could about him.

"The British held me for months in a southern compound," he began, glancing forward, as if he had to somehow distance himself from telling her. "I had shown a bit of mercy to one of the patriot families whose village we had burned, so they suspected me of being a traitor."

She moved her hand to the front of his jacket and gripped it in anticipation.

"When the torture and drugs yielded nothing to satisfy them, they locked me in a hole of a cell with no light or human contact."

"Oh Aaron," she breathed, resting her head upon his chest. "I'm so sorry…"

He stiffened at her words but she wound her arms around his waist, refusing to let go. After a moment he seemed to relax, and when he said nothing more she struggled against asking him all the questions she still had, but held her tongue. They rode for some distance, dipping into lower country before he continued on.

"Burke finally got word through to his contacts in Boston and they ordered me transferred," he said bitterly. "My name was cleared and they never found out that their suspicions of me were not far from the truth."

She looked up at him, thankful when he did glance down at her. "What happened at that meeting, Aaron?" she said, waiting while he turned away and contemplated how much to tell her. Reaching up a hand to rub the back of his neck, he then pulled her closer.

"My identity was compromised," he told her.

"You mean someone recognized you, from before?"

"I'm afraid so," he said grimly.

"One of the Indians?"

He nodded. "Burke went after him, with two of the others."

"And if they find him, then you'll be safe?"

He glanced down at her, pursing his lips. "He once scouted for my regiment, but then his people exchanged loyalties and the contact ended…he told Burke not to trust me, having seen me at my former post in Boston. I never recognized him, not until he spoke up."

"But why would he report you?" she asked incredulously. "You are both on the same side now."

He sighed. "I'm afraid it is more complicated than that."

She nodded. "I did see someone sneaking around the yard just after you left to go back," she admitted.

"That would have been the owner," he nodded. "Usually he is away when we hold our meetings."

"I take it he does not approve?"

A hint of a smile curled his lips. "You could say that."

"The boy who took me to the cellar, and his mother—"

"They've been through this before," he assured her. "They will be fine."

"But I heard shots."

He fell silent, not at liberty or not willing to explain. Following his gaze forward, she sighed. "Then our plans have changed."

"I haven't decided ye—for now try to get some rest; I'll make sure you don't fall off."

"What about you? You must be exhausted—"

"I am well accustomed to this," he interrupted, pulling her closer. "Now rest. We've a long ride before we reach the village."

Forced herself to relax, she leaned her head on his shoulder and fell silent. She wondered what he was thinking, and if he still planned to deliver her to her brother. Was that even possible, given the changes which had just occurred? Though she thought long and couldn't help worrying, the swaying of the horse and the warmth from Aaron's body made her drowsy. The snow had ceased falling and the world was silent, enveloping her in a false sense of peace. Closing her eyes, she nestled against his neck and concentrated on the steady rise and fall of his chest.

_c. 2008 by Christine Levitt_


	12. Chapter 12 The Cave

_**Chapter 12 The Cave**_

It was nearly dawn before he discerned the faint outline of the notch through the heavily swirling snow. Tensing against the shiver running down his back, he squinted through the thick fog swathing the peaks and confirmed its presence where it stood watch over the strategic spot. It was as familiar to him as the boundaries of his own land back home, a place he hadn't visited in years but could never forget. Forcing his mind back to the present, he knew with dead certainty that once through that pass they would be leaving the relative safety of the commonwealth and entering a far more dangerous arena—his world.

Tightening his arm across the front of Ceara's thick coat, he was gripped with regret at having to begin their lives in this way, already on the run and knowing little of what lay ahead. It was not her world, he knew, yet somehow he could not help himself—he had to take her with him, no matter how unfair he was being to her. Since meeting her that first time, she'd somehow become as much a part of him as the lands of his inheritance were…even more so. It wasn't something he could reason or even explain, but something deep inside him seemed to confirm it, whispering that they belonged together. And he was never one to ignore that inner conviction. It had saved his life and the lives of those around him many times. He trusted that with regard to marrying Ceara, that conviction would once again somehow prove true.

Forcing his thoughts to their more immediate needs, he nudged the flanks of her horse, urging the thoroughbred higher toward the cave he knew sat tucked into the side of the notch, well hidden from below. There they would find shelter from what had quickly worsened from storm to blizzard, and hopefully they could wait it out there and get some rest. Had it not been for the storm they would have already made it across the Hudson by now instead of losing yet another day of travel. The only good thing about their situation was the fact that few would journey out into such bad weather.

Stretching his fingers in a halfhearted attempt to warm them, he glanced over one shoulder as they plodded through the thinning forest toward the edge of the tree line. Though the horse would no doubt attract attention, he was grateful for having it, especially for Ceara's sake. Hiking this part of the journey would have been difficult, particularly in winter. Yet once they passed through the notch to the other side it would be necessary to dismount and walk in order not to slip and risk a dangerous fall. And he was not about to let anything happen to her.

Glancing down at her face for the hundredth time, he let his eyes linger over her features as she slept. It was a pastime he could ill afford, yet somehow he could not seem to resist. She had wound herself around him quite contentedly, he thought with a smile, noting how her forehead pressed against his collar, her left cheek pillowed upon his chest. It pleased him that she could sleep thus, tucked trustingly against him while he held her in his arms. When awake she held herself away far too often, but in sleep it was quite a different story. As if the real Ceara came out during sleep.

To her credit, she had endured many hours of riding without complaint, and now slept completely oblivious to both the storm and the change in their surroundings. With eyes tracing the soft curve of her lips and lingering there, he ignored the soft warning within him, advising that he forego any fantasies about her and their forced marriage. She was his legal wife in name only, despite his fixing a fraudulent surname to their license. Surely the error could be corrected later, he reasoned, and she would understand his need to use it. It was a gamble, setting his heart upon a real marriage and future with her, and he was not a gambling man. But he did so nevertheless.

Drawing a shallow but prolonged breath, he let his gaze wander down the lovely shape of her chin, across the front of the boy's jacket which hid her curves, finally resting upon her small hands. The woolen gloves she wore were tattered and thin, perhaps explaining the way she'd tucked her fingers into his coat for warmth. He was sure that if she awoke to find herself doing so she would have been embarrassed by so bold a gesture, and for good reason. Her forbidden touch caused his mind to swim with visions of her touching him elsewhere, and while she was wide awake. But they were married, so what could be wrong in that if they were to embark upon a marriage true in form and function? As he considered the problem he imagined what it would feel like to have her fingers traveling over his chest, as well as further experimenting with the few kissed they'd already shared. Frowning and averting his gaze heavenward, he concentrated upon getting to the cave, his mind again drifting to its sheltering warmth and what might occur between them even there.

It was a battle he fought as vigorously as combat, attempting to control his growing need for her. The fact that she was now his wife only heightened the struggle, for that status intimated a closeness of the most basic sort. Not only was he attracted to her physically, but something about her drew him more than any woman he had ever met. He'd told himself that such weakness was normal and entirely understandable, the natural result of spending most of his adult life alone or solely in the company of other men. But now, after being near her for weeks and now wed to her, he found that he craved her presence. It went even beyond temptation, entering the realm of deeper needs of kinship and family. She was unlike anyone he had ever met, she seemed to understand him, and even more surprising to accept him for what he was. She had asked nothing more of him than safe escort to see her brother, and even after marrying him had demanded little more. The problem was that he wanted her to demand more. He wanted her to demand everything of him and even more frighteningly, he wanted to give her whatever she wanted.

The whirling snow flung icy pellets against his skin, stinging it and making him lower his head and press on. The horse whinnied softly but he patted its neck, speaking praises for its efforts in a low and soothing tone. Daring a glance ahead he judged their refuge to be only a few hundred meters above, so directing their path in a zigzagging pattern of ascent he judged it large enough to accommodate the horse's height. It would be deep enough to escape the wind, and although he had not been there since his imprisonment, he was confident that the old fears he'd experienced in the tunnel would not trouble him in the cave. Hopefully Ceara's presence would again prove enough of a distraction, as it had been in the tunnel.

They rose to the same level of the cave, yet he was finding it more and more difficult to fight the heaviness creeping over him. Weak from lack of sleep, he prayed they would find their way to it without injury. Lifting a hand to shield his eyes from the slant of the snowfall, he guided the horse toward the foot of the cave and tightened his arm around her waist.

She straightened suddenly, drawing back to look up at him. Squinting her eyes against the pelting snow, she looked surprised at what she saw. He studied her in silence as she came fully awake, captivated by the amazing blue of her eyes.

"Oh my!" she gasped, looking suddenly embarrassed. "How long have I been sleeping? And when did it start snowing so hard?"

He reached a gloved hand up to brush the snow off the top of her cap. "All night," he answered quietly, "on both accounts."

He felt her hand tighten on his thigh, though he did not think she realized she did it. "But what about you? You must be exhausted!"

He nodded toward the mouth of the cave. "There's a cave above—we can rest here."

"Why didn't you wake me?" she complained, brushing the show off his shoulders. "I don't wish to be a burden, Aaron."

"You're not a burden, and we will have all day to sleep."

She drew her left leg up and bent it to reposition herself sidesaddle. "Must we travel by night?" she sighed, glancing up at the ominous cloud cover. "There won't be much moonlight unless the storm passes."

"I'm afraid so," he said, offering his arm, which she clutched. "It is the safest way to travel."

She clutched his arm and slid down to stand at his side. Rubbing her lower back, she watched him dismount stiffly and attempt to relieve the cramping in his legs. Gripping the reins, he plowed through the deep snow toward the ledge. The cave entrance was her height where it lay half hidden in the side of the mountain. Hearing her come up behind him, he extended the reins to her.

"Wait here while I check inside."

Climbing up to the natural rock shelf, he reached the mouth and peered inside. Kicking aside the old snow filling the entrance, he ducked inside and found it empty. Glancing back over his shoulder, he turned and approached the entrance, retracing his steps toward her. Once he reached her side again she handed him the reins. "All clear—we'll follow you up."

With careful steps she did as he asked, climbing up easily as he followed, slowly maneuvering the horse along behind him. The animal whinnied softly but he patted its neck and slowly led it up to the entrance. Ceara disappeared inside and just as the snowfall increased he coaxed the animal inside. With a few sputtered protests he bobbed his head and Aaron set to work removing the saddle. A few sidelong glances told him that she drew the wet blanket from her shoulders, shook it out and stretched it over the rocks. Then she turned toward him, taking the bags he handed her.

"At least we are out of the wind and snow," she said with a feeble smile. "How did you know about this place?"

He turned to concentrate on loosening the frozen straps of the saddle. "I've been here before."

He heard her soft sigh as she worked on the other side. "I suppose we should change into something dry, then gather some of those sticks for a fire."

Sliding the saddle off, he carried it toward the side of the cave and dropped it to the ground, stretching his sore legs and back.

"I'll look for some bigger pieces," he announced, noting the slight relaxation of her expression. A shiver passed along her shoulders but she smiled and bent to the bags.

He left her alone to make his way back down, feeling like a schoolboy from that awkward moment. She needs her privacy, he told himself as he kicked at a dying shrub to relieve it of its burden of snow and ice. Bending to snap off the dried branches, he grieved the nasty turn of events at the inn which had robbed them of another night spent in their own room. He had wanted to hold her in his arms and share a few tentative kisses with her, but instead she'd had to kiss him forcefully to snap him out of his panic from the tunnel. The small pile of kindling grew as he foraged for dry wood like a madman, fighting the wind and snow. Finally lifting an armload he started back toward the cave, remembering the last time he had stayed there and appreciating the irony of his situation. It had rained for days that summer, doing little to assuage the heat and humidity even in these mountains. In those days he enjoyed the close confines of the cave, feeling safe and undetected by his enemies. With a grunt of pain he started up the incline feeling sick with exhaustion, wondering how he could hide that from Ceara when she was probably wide awake.

Leveling himself up to the entrance he stopped abruptly when he saw her, flinching at her high pitched gasp of surprise as he stared despite his best efforts not to.

"Aaron!" she screeched, whirling to show him her back as she pulled the large shirt tighter around her. "I didn't hear you coming—"

"I'm sorry," he apologized, his voice sounding hoarse. Seeing her pale skin in the dim light of the cave had taken his breath away as surely as a blow to his middle would have. Yet he had only seen the curve of her chest in profile, and that only for a moment. "I—should have called out to warn you."

She was furiously buttoning the shirt and pulling a man's vest over one arm. "No, it's all right," she said nervously, turning her head to look at him and forcing a wobbly smile. "There's no point fearing breaking the rules of propriety out here in the wilderness!"

He forced his feet to move and slowly approached the small pit, dropping the wood and staring at her back. Lifting a hand to remove his hat, he slowly placed it on top of a rock, listening to her soft panting as she finished dressing. Slowly removing his wet cloak, he shook it and laid it out to dry as she finally turned to face him, her fingers laced together and held before her. Slowly easing off his sodden gloves, he held her expectant gaze.

"We are married," he said after a moment, watching her closely and attempting a teasing smile. But apparently he was unsuccessful.

"That we are," she said tightly, bobbing her head in agreement as she bent to the saddlebags. "I cannot seem to find a tinderbox—"

"We don't need one," he stated, tossing the gloves aside and taking a step toward her. She tensed as he took note of her baggy clothing, unable to help noticing the sweet curve of her shoulder and neck where the overly large clothing slipped down. Her hair was loose but flung over the other side, just brushing down to the curved seat of her pants. He swallowed and tried not to stare, for suddenly those pants looked nothing like a man's. When he lifted his eyes to hers she gazed at him in silent challenge, alarming him until he saw the fire in her eyes change subtly to a mischievous twinkle before she reached for a stick of wood and began to break it up, tossing the pieces into the pit.

Smiling to himself, Aaron realized the privacy of the cave might offer more than he had imagined. First on his list of duties was to make a fire, share a simple meal and then curl up for sleep, preferably with her in his arms. As they gazed into the fire he might share a bit of his background with her, something he knew he'd grown very rusty at. As he watched her prepare the kindling he pulled off his wet jacket and draped it to dry, then his sodden waistcoat and finally the cold damp shirt. Bending toward her, he reached past her shoulder to pull a dry shirt from his bag. Though she did not look up he watched her eyes follow the movement of his arm. Slowly straightening, he took no heed of the fact that she would not even glance up at him, smiling to himself when she turned her back as he went further into the cave to change his lower half of wet clothing. Was he imagining it, or did the wood break more loudly and fervently than before?

"There—all finished!" she declared as he came back to her side. Coming to her feet, she turned and glanced at his hands just as he was buttoning his shirt. Her eyes shot up to his and she offered him a nervous smile. He smiled back. Leaving his shirt half buttoned, he lowered his hands and took a step closer, watching her stretch her head back to hold his gaze. Slowly placing his hands on his hips, he drank in the sight of her huge eyes and the smudges of dirt on her cheeks, trying not to smile in appreciation.

"Why so nervous?" he asked softly, gazing into her dark blue eyes.

Her smile widened and for the first time he discovered two tiny dimples in her cheeks. "I'm not nervous—"

"You are."

She faltered, inching up her beautiful smile. "It's just that it's very cold," she explained, rubbing her hands up and down her arms. "And you haven't even finished buttoning—your shirt…"

"And that makes you nervous."

"No—I mean yes, of course it makes me nervous!" she squeaked, glancing toward the mouth of the cave. The horse whinnied from the opposite end of the cave where he stood watching them. "We are all alone in this cave, in the middle of God knows where."

He reached for his flint and turned to the wood, quickly sparking and tending to the tiny flame. As he did so he was aware of her gaze as surely as if she were touching him in those places he sensed it linger. Telling himself to take great care with her feelings, he straightened from his bent knee and turned to face her. She smiled and thanked him, and he lifted a thumb to her cheek, gently brushing at the smudge that had captured his attention. When she froze he met tried to explain.

"You just have a bit of dirt—"

She gripped his wrist, holding it aloft as she stared at him wide eyed. "Aaron…"

He frowned. "You're _afraid_ of me," he said in amazement.

"No—I'm afraid of myself!" she croaked, averting her gaze as she released his wrist.

"I don't understand."

She looked away. "I'm afraid of what I'll do…when you…touch me like that," she finished in a whisper.

He took a step closer, willing her to look at him. "May I remind you that we have already slept in each other's arms?" he said quietly. When she finally looked up at him, he nodded toward the wood. "Though our room at the inn was cold, doing so here will be even more necessary, even with the fire…we can't have us freezing to death, can we?"

She blew out a frustrated breath and smiled. "Of course not—I don't know why I'm being so silly—"

He clasped her cheek then, cupping it in his palm as he pulled her to him and set his lips over hers. She stiffened and gripped his arms, but he could not seem to help himself. The softness of her lips captured his attention, and he kissed her hesitantly, as gently as he could. He felt a hand move to grip his half opened shirt, the other gentle upon his arm. Drawing back very slightly, he gazed into her eyes and hinted a smile to her.

"_I'm_ not afraid of what you'll do," he whispered back. "So fear not, wife."

Something changed in her expression and she gentled her grip on him. Encouraged, he bent to kiss her again, his heart pounding with excitement when she did not resist. Slowly turning his head to one side, he kissed her tenderly, gazing at her soft, barely parted lips as he touched brief kisses across the width of her mouth. Her eyes drifted closed as her grip loosened, though he longed for her to part the fabric and touch his bare skin. Sliding his hand into her hair, he tilted his head to the other side and nuzzled her lips, enveloped in the fragrance of her loosened hair. Closing his eyes to savor the feeling of her soft kisses, he felt her breach the stony threshold of his heart. Greedy for the sight of her, he pulled back and tried to catch his breath.

She was staring up at him in wonder. Holding her gaze, he touched his forehead to hers and together they listened to the echoes of their own breathing in the quiet stillness of the cave. Beyond its mouth they could hear the distant wind howling through the mountains.

"I did try to warn you," she said, her voice thick with emotion.

"I've my own fears," he stated, tugging her fingertips to his lips to gently kiss them. He studied her expression until he was sure that she knew he meant his behavior in the tunnel. "But I think that together we can overcome them."

Her brows lifted as she studied his expression. "You didn't marry me just to satisfy Caleb," she breathed out, her brow furrowing, "did you?"

He shook his head. "Nor for my own protection."

Her eyes narrowed upon his as her fingers curled into his upper arms. "Exactly what kind of deal did you make with him?"

He smiled wickedly. "A gentleman never reveals such secrets."

She drew back. "Married couples should have no secrets between them!"

He kissed her forehead. "None whatsoever?"

She smiled demurely and slowly disengaged from his embrace. Reaching for his hand, she tugged him toward the fire pit. "I will consider an answer while you sit down before you fall down. And l'll dry Pierce's coat for him."

He slumped down upon a boulder by the fire, watching her walk toward the horse. "Pierce?"

"It is a much more fitting name than Caleb's choice," she announced, balling up what looked like an old undershirt to use as a grooming brush.

He studied the movement of her shoulders as she worked. "And what name was that?"

She threw him a grin over one shoulder. "Moseley," she said with disgust.

Aaron barked out a laugh, shaking his head. "Then Pierce it shall be."

_**Ceara lifted her face toward the overcast sky,**_ smiling despite the gloomy dampness of the evening closing in around them. Riding within the possessive circle of Aaron's arms she felt a strange mixture of security and excitement at his nearness. Still blushing inwardly from the look on his face when he had caught her in the middle of dressing, she could not help feeling a little thrill at her newfound power over him. Whereas before he was the strong one, guiding and directing their journey with obvious expertise and knowledge of the landscape, she now felt their relationship had fallen into greater balance. Having known only men who manipulated and dominated their women, her husband stood out as marvelously unique. It must be his maturity, she realized, which allowed her the opportunity to direct their treatment of each other. In terms of etiquette he was a gentleman in every sense of the word, holding back the desire that shown in his wonderful eyes and choosing rather to encourage and coax her to discover and act upon her own. Having fought off years of unwanted attention, she found it exhilarating to have the choice to accept or reject a man's interest, without fear or threat. And for that she could not help but respect and trust him.

Laying a hand on his forearm, she gripped the damp woolen blanket closer with her other hand in an effort to keep warm. They had started out just after sunset, leaving behind the warm cocoon of the cave and pleasant memories of a full day's rest spent sleeping in each other's arms. Though her back was sore from the hard ground and she knew they had difficult journey ahead she felt strangely content, as if her life now held purpose. And thanks to him, she no longer felt alone. For the first time in her life she felt she could let her guard down and not feel threatened by a man.

As if sensing her thoughts, he pulled her back against his chest, tucking his face against her neck and breathing in the fragrance of her hair. She shivered with pleasure, for his breath made her body tingle with awareness. There was an unspoken promise in him that told her they would face whatever obstacles the must endure together, and face them in all honesty and acceptance. Even better, he would help her overcome her fear of intimacy, as he had already begun to do.

"I look forward to sleeping in your arms once again," he breathed at her ear, "for twice was not nearly enough."

Shivering from the touch of his breath, she stretched her neck against his lips and slid her hand up his arm. "As do I," she sighed, turning her face to wait for his kiss. When he lifted his head and gazed into her eyes, he smiled with recognition.

"Kiss me," he whispered, his eyes lowering to her lips. And when she did, he closed them as if in appreciation of a great gift.

"Aaron," she breathed, dipping her head to kiss him again, though with some restraint.

He sighed and looked up. "What is your command now, wife?" he teased, gathering her closer.

She rubbed his arms and settled comfortably within them. "Nothing…I just like to say your name."

He hugged her tighter lifting his gaze back toward the horizon. "Are you warm enough?"

"Yes, thanks to you," she replied, following the direction of his eyes along the perimeter of the canyon through which they rode. "Aaron…"

"Hmm?" he said a bit distractedly.

"Thank you for giving me your name."

"You're welcome."

She pulled away to look up at him, noting the tiny lines around his mouth that hinted at a smile. "I am being completely serious."

He glanced down at her. "I know."

"Then why look like the cat who swallowed the canary?" she whispered.

He took a moment to look into her eyes, his expression sobering considerably. "Because there is so much more that I wish to give you," he said quietly, watching her intently, "if you will accept it."

Noting the burning intensity of his eyes, she rested her head against his shoulder, taking her time to study him. Thinking of his teasing kisses and realizing that he had used them to whet her appetite, she staring at his lips, fascinated by their masculine beauty and wondering what other kisses he might have in mind. His restraint somehow only fed her curiosity and made her want more. And she sensed that what made him different was the giving, not the taking. Looking back up into his eyes, she tightened her hand over his gloved one.

"Then I accept," she answered softly, watching his expression change first to surprise, then to satisfied acceptance. He nodded once before redirecting his gaze forward again.

"Good."

For the first time since their journey she noted real tension in him and wondered what troubled him. "Are we nearing the river yet?" she asked casually, hoping to glean from him more details than he had outlined before they left the cave.

"Almost," he said distractedly, his eyes to their right.

"After that we will have a few days' journey to Fort Stanwix," she hinted.

He glanced down at her with a skeptical lift to his lips. "Fort Schuyler."

She pursed her lips. "My brother is stationed at Fort Stanwix, Aaron."

"It has not been called that since we took it back."

"But my brother refers to it by that name."

"That is understandable," he admitted, guiding them over a small brook. Off in the distance she could hear the rush of a river as water spewed down from the higher elevations. "There is confusion due to the change in names."

"I see…what is it like, Aaron?"

He slowed Pierce's progress as they crossed a small ravine. "Like any fort."

"Is it in good repair and comfortable?"

"It was when I was last there, but things change quickly, often for the worse."

"Really?" she asked with growing alarm, wondering if that was why he seemed on edge, even a bit worried.

"We need to dismount," he said abruptly, nodding ahead of them. "From her on we walk in single file."

"Aaron, do you believe the fort to be in ruins?"

He dismounted then, holding up a hand to assist her. She took it and gingerly got down, standing before him clutching the blanket closer. "Do you think my brother is in danger?"

To her surprise he pulled a rope from the saddle and bent to pass it behind her. "Not if he stays inside," he answered gruffly, tying a knot around her waist. When she squeaked in protest he smiled encouragingly. "It is we who are in far greater danger," he said conspiratorially, winding the other end around the pommel.

"But how, and why are you tying me up?" she choked in nervousness.

"You first," he said, nudging her toward the sound of the river. "You weigh the least."

She started off, throwing him a disgruntled look of protest. "What does my size have to do with anything?"

He urged the horse along in her wake, his eyes on the snow. "In case you fall through we'll know not to tread there."

"Fall through?" she squeaked, whirling around to gaze ahead of her. For the first time she took note of the small streams of water crisscrossing the path before them and suddenly understood. "You would sacrifice my safety to save yourself?"

"Of course," he laughed, shaking his head. "Do you know _anything_ about traveling through the wilderness?"

"Of course I do!" she pouted, keeping her voice low despite the growing roar of the waters. "I spent my entire childhood roaming the woods!"

"I said 'wilderness,'" he teased, "not 'woods, and if you study how the streams disappear beneath the snow you might come to the conclusion tha—"

"Help!" she croaked as the ground suddenly gave way beneath her boots, plunging her down through the snow until her boots planted onto the frozen earth below. Clawing at the sides of the snowy shaft of her cell she gazed up at the opening, which seemed very far away "Aaron!"

"Hold on!" he called from above just before the rope at her waist was tugged. She'd forgotten all about it! Now, joyfully gripping it with both hands despite the water seeping into her boots she felt them lift off the ground. "Use your feet to climb up!" he ordered, his voice a distant shout above the thundering waterfall.

Kicking and digging her boots into the snowy walls of the shaft, she half crawled and was half dragged up with the rope digging painfully into her sides. Before she knew it she was crawling on her stomach toward him as Pierce backed away under Aaron's direction. The horse pulled her closer to Aaron and she got to her feet, glancing back at the hole where she'd fallen through. Hearing the sound of quiet laughter she whirled around and stomped toward him, meeting him halfway and sputtering in protest as he swatted gently at her shoulders to knock away the snow covering her. Knocking his hands away she planted hers on her hips.

"What is so amusing?" she croaked, spitting out a wet lock of hair from the corner of her mouth. "I could have been swept into the river down there!"

"No, you couldn't have," he choked with suppressed laughter. "It was just a snow bridge—the snowfall is deeper than you are tall up in these mountains, though not always compact. Add to that the water undermining it from beneath—"

"You proved your point!" she sputtered, stomping past him on her way to Pierce, whose neck she petted. "Good boy," she soothed, ignoring the sound of Aaron's steps coming up behind her.

"I was not trying to prove anythi—"

Not hearing him finish she realized something had distracted him again and turned to see what it was. Gasping in shock, she gripped his sleeve and stared at the forms of nearly two dozen men standing in the shadows of the trees around them. Covering her mouth, she stared at the outlines of feathered headdresses and bows held at their sides. _Indians!  
_

_**Narrowing his gaze upon them,**_ Aaron forced his breathing to slow as he counted the feathers in each kastoweh, two standing upright at the back of each head, one pointing downward. Parting his lips, he carefully exhaled and blinked. Onyota'a:ka…people of the standing stone.

"Aaaaron…" He heard her whisper, flinching when two of them stepped from the shadows toward them. How could he have missed taking note of their presence? he wondered, knowing the answer before the question formed in his mind. Distracted by Ceara's fall, they had called to each other loud enough to be heard for miles. What other mistakes had he made?

"Pretend you're my brother," he ordered quietly as they were approached by two of the braves. "Don't let them know you're a woman."

That said he took a step forward only to stop abruptly as a spear slammed into the snow at his feet. From behind he heard Ceara gasp, and he prayed they would not discover her identity. Forcing himself to stand immobile as they came up to pull the spear from the snow, he held their hostile gazes until one of them stalked over to Ceara. Keeping his eyes on the man before him, he heard a muffled cry of outrage before she was roughly escorted to his side. She slammed into him and he felt her fingers digging into his arm. To her credit, she said nothing.

"Who dares trespass along our trail?" the one before him finally demanded, his accent heavy and different from what he expected. Struggling to discern its meaning and origin, he interpreted the words and judged them not to be Oneida, as he had first thought. The words were similar, but spoken with a foreign dialect.

"We seek audience with your sachem," he answered in their language, finally deciding they must be Tuscarora. He watched a look of surprise crease the man's features, but he crossed his arms. "Who is 'we', and how do you know our tongue?"

"My name is Aaron Greene," he answered in their language. "My Oneida brothers call me 'Two Sides.'"

The warrior lifted his chin, studying him intently. "Aaah-ha-ron—I have heard of you. And the other?"

"Family," was all Aaron told him as he nodded depreciatively toward Ceara.

The man nodded to the other, who took her back toward their horse. He flinched at how roughly she was led, and when he heard a smack and the brave's growl of protest he groaned inwardly. Forcing himself to show no reaction he listened intently, his eyes locked with the man's before him. And then her strangled words reached their ears.

"Dear Jesus—" she croaked, obviously praying for mercy.

After a moment of apparent shock the man before him furrowed his brow with surprise, then apparent interest. "Jee-sus?" he repeated, raising a burst of animated conversation from the others who stood poised at the edge of the wood.

The man before him gripped his arm and led him toward them. One backward glance told him that Ceara had been deposited onto the saddle and was being led along behind them.

"No—we must stay together!" she protested, her voice demanding but edged in fear that he hoped no one else noticed.

"To—geh—thur?" the one escorting her joked, repeating it with great amusement.

"Yes, together!" she scolded in outrage. "He _is _my husband!"

The man at Aaron's side stopped abruptly, swinging around to stare at her. Then he motioned that she be brought closer, whereupon he studied her suspiciously. He himself repeated her words, his eyes widening in surprise. With a sudden whoop of joy he lifted his bow and knocked off her hat with it, staring at the long tail of hair that spilled down from concealment. The brave at her side snatched away her blanket, though she tugged it forcefully. Finally snapping it from her grasp, he waved it before her like a flag, laughing and pointing at Aaron.

The man before him slapped him on the back and laughed, proclaiming his discovery to his men and shaking his head at Aaron. "Family!" he smiled broadly, nodding to the others who ran up to surround them.

Aaron stared up at Ceara, careful to show no emotion. He felt his hands forced behind his back and while they were tied she also suffered the same fate. Then he was shoved forward and led off at the front of the procession, heading into the forest. Without further comment they began their descent along the unseen trail, cresting the ridge and descending it. Far below Aaron saw the mighty Hudson moving like a silver snake in the moonlight.

_c. 2008 by Christine Levitt_


	13. Chapter 13 The Village

_**Chapter 13 The Village**_

Hugging Matthew closer, Cecily winced at the pounding shaking Betsy's door. _It was him; he'd come for her._

Baby Matthew screwed his shocked expression tighter, ready to cry. Torn by indecision, she was on one hand tempted to rush upstairs and hide in the closet; on the other she longed to throw open that door and throw a pan of burnt soup in his face. At least it might put her miserable cooking effort to good use.

"Cecily, open this door!" Caleb demanded, rapping with short, staccato beats. "I have a perfectly logical explanation for my actions!"

Fuming and starting toward the door, she halted only within a distance where he would be sure to hear. "Go away!" she ordered, cradling Matthew's head in her palm in an effort to calm him. His wide eyes and pouting mouth told her he was just moments from releasing a full-blown wail of protest at their argument. Lifting him enough to plant a smacking kiss on his chubby cheek she smiled. "I'm sorry baby," she soothed, trying to ignore continued rapping.

"Please, Cecily," his father pleaded, "the neighbors—"

"I don't care what they think!" she retaliated. "Leave us alone—you are frightening Matthew!"

"I'm sorry—I just need to see you," he insisted, "I can explain why I felt I had to do what I did—"

She dragged open the door and he stumbled into the house. Unashamedly pleased at the look of shock on his face, she realized he must have been leaning against it. Taking two giant steps backward she stood and glared at him. "Your actions have explained everything, Caleb Godwin—forcing my sister to flee town like a refugee, just to escape your scheming and conniving—not to mention manipulating both of them into a forced marriage which had the constable's wife not been kind enough to inform me I never would have guessed—"

"Ceara was caught helping a fugitive from the law escape!" he protested, closing the door behind himself, but not after a quick survey of the neighboring yards. "I was only doing my duty as a responsible citizen and member of this family—"

"Duty?" she choked, shaking her head in disbelief. "You just wanted to get rid of a problem you thought a source of embarrassment to your mighty reputation! God knows what you've done to Ceara, breaking her heart, and mine in the process!"

To her amazement she saw his eyes fill with moisture as he leaned back against the door. "But you _left_ me," he choked hoarsely, "and you took our baby..."

Never having seen him so emotional, for the first time she doubted her decision to flee their empty house to stay with Betsy and the children, mourning her loss of her sister. She held his gaze and shook her head. "I was so angry with you I could not stand to be alone in that house," she answered, hoping to help him understand that her rash behavior was not truly an effort to leave him.

"I had to find out from my hired men," he said, his eyes shifting to Matthew and back to her. "After a long and exhausting trip I found that the love of my life took our son and deserted me!"

Swallowing her own sob, she told herself that she had wasted too many tears on him already. "Ceara is all I have left of my family, besides Jamie," she croaked. "How could you take her away from me?"

"She was a bad influence, and her behavior was becoming eccentric," he insisted, taking a step toward her.

Lifting a hand to stop him, she shook her head. "You only made it worse, manipulating her, and now you've forced her to marry a perfectly innocent man—"

"Innocent?" he laughed incredulously. "The man's a _traitor_ to his own kind, associating with the likes of Masters and the others—"

"Well you judged him worthy enough to marry my _sister_!"

"We made a deal, he and I—only a temporary one, just to protect her reputation until he escorts her safely to your brother," he tried to explain. "Added to that is the fact that for some reason God only knows he respects her—and if I am not mistaken he is attracted to her! What better husband could she possibly find?"

Cecily suddenly had a vision of his face the day she had come to this very house and first met him—she remembered how he'd looked at Ceara. Even more surprising, the way she had acted with him indicated she trusted him. Now, staring at her husband with parted lips but finding no protest, she could not argue with his logic.

"You know something about them," Caleb guessed, taking a step closer and gently brushing his fingertips atop Matthew's head. The baby gurgled and reached for him, and she transferred him to his father's arms. Caleb's eyes plumbed the depths of her gaze as he hugged Matthew close. "Then tell me that I'm wrong about them."

Turning to go to the sofa, she seated herself and stared past the place where he stood, feeling the weight of his gaze as he waited for her to deny it. "If they prove to suit well, it will not be your doing," she stated primly. "And if indeed you and he 'made a deal, which I seriously doubt, time will tell the truth of the matter.'"

"Do you doubt a gentleman's agreement?" he said with a hint of a smile, forcing her steel herself against his appeal. Already she felt her resolve weakening, at least in her heart.

"Don't wander from the subject of your interference, Caleb Godwin."

He came to sit next to her, patting Matthew's tiny back. She could hear the pleasure in her son's soft cooing language. "Surely you cannot believe that a man in his position would be at liberty to take time for such things, let alone courtship and tender affection. He is somehow involved in espionage, if I've guessed correctly, in which case his future prospects are at best compromised."

She crossed her arms, pinning him with an accusatory glare. "Perhaps you should concentrate on your own prospects, for our marriage might not survive if you continue to toy with other people's affairs."

He laughed incredulously. "Toy? I merely took advantage of a splendid opportunity to bind two otherwise hopeless people into what may just promise to be a happy marriage—"

She fisted her hands at her sides with a groan. "If you wish to remain married to me you must cease to manipulate others—"

"All right, all right!" he laughed. "If you insist—"

"—and I want you to send a written apology to Ceara and her husband."

His smile faded. "Apology? I was merely acting like any responsible brother-in-law—"

"No, you were not!" she insisted. "And if you will not agree to stop involving yourself in the private affairs of others, then our marriage is over."

He sobered, crinkling his brow as he studied her face. For once Cecily felt that he was truly listening to her, and inwardly she breathed a prayer of thanksgiving. And one for him to agree upon her terms.

"You are serious about this," he breathed, staring at her in surprise.

"I am."

"A written apology…" he considered, his gaze drifting off a moment before returning to hers. "Very well, if you insist, though I doubt there is an address—"

"Ceara and I will be in touch," she assured him, hoping that it was indeed true. She suddenly felt as if a weight had been taken from her shoulders. "And you will forward the remainder of her dowry to her as soon as she settles."

"Only if you both come home with me now and promise never to run away again."

She held his gaze. "All right, but in the future all family matters will be discussed together, openly and before any action is taken."

"Fine," he huffed, getting to his feet and waiting for her to do so. "Now come before that woman returns—"

"You mean Betsy," she corrected, slowly shaking her head. "But I want you to know that things are not going to be the way they were until you've shown me some sign that you have changed."

"My word not good enough for you?"

"I am afraid not, Caleb."

He sighed in obvious frustration. "What kind of sign?"

She got up and reached for Matthew's bag. "I will know it when I see it."

He waited until she handed it over, and when she did she could see the hurt in his expression. "I have stated my love for you countless times," he said quietly, watching her carefully. "It is my hope that you will believe me, and forgive me."

She lowered her head and squeezed her eyes shut, heart pounding in the silence lengthening between them. She heard him walk to the door and open it before she looked up, into his eyes.

_I do love you, God help me…_

His eyes searched her face, but he nodded once. "Matthew and I will be waiting in the carriage."

_**Captain Burke slammed his fist upon the table,**_ eyeing those standing around him with challenge. "We _will _not give up," he insisted, "regardless of the storms. I want scouts out there looking for any sign of either of them, and check all our contacts along the Hudson. Someone had to see them. They will be headed toward Ft. Schuyler as long as her brother remains stationed there. Unless I receive confirmation of his having been transferred elsewhere we will keep looking."

"Aye, sir," several voices agreed, some half heartedly, as the meeting broke up and they went to carry out his orders.

Leaning back wearily in the chair, Burke met the gaze of Mrs. Stauder, the innkeeper's wife.

"I don't understand why he would take her through such dangerous country," she complained, shaking her head.

Burke smoothed a hand down his face as he let out a tired sigh. "Because she was going to go there anyway—with or without an escort."

She looked thoughtful. "Can you be sure of that?"

He nodded. "John Masters was convinced of it, and he's known her since she was a little girl."

"The man who helped Aaron escape?"

"That's right."

"Well," she sighed, looking toward the window at the threatening clouds riding the ridge. "If there is a safe way through, Mr. Aaron will find it for her. I cannot think of a more competent protector."

Burke cradled his soup bowl with one hand, almost too tired to eat. "I hope you're right about that," he said gloomily, thinking of the Mohawk scout's expression when he recognized Aaron. That was all it had taken for all hell to break loose, threatening the delicate balance which the meeting had just achieved. For fisticuffs to have ensued and prompted the Indians' abrupt flight troubled him , but what caused him the most concern was a nagging fear that Aaron intended to correct the problem himself, even if it meant going directly to the Five Nations. He was that determined to win the confederation's full support. "But it's not _her_ safety which worries me. I fear he's about to single handedly plead for the Confederacy's support."

Patience Stauder turned to face him. "What you told me about their marriage is reason to hope: maybe she can deter him."

Swallowing a spoonful of soup, Burke caught the twinkle in her eyes. "Theirs is a marriage of convenience, Patience," he reminded her.

She smiled then. "Let's pray it doesn't stay that way. Aaron is in desperate need of a wife to love him, whether he knows it or not, and he's married a lovely young woman."

He harrumphed and spooned another portion into his mouth, shaking his head at her "you'll see." Swallowing with some difficulty, he studied her hopeful expression cynically. "If it does I'll not be a witness to it…I relieved him of his duties just before our meeting."

Her face fell. "But why? He's the best we've got!"

Burke raised a hand in his own defense. "Tis only 'till spring," he clarified. "He needs to get away and recover more, so it is only a leave of disability. It will give him time to relax, and put off the risk of him being recognized again."

She leaned forward in her chair. "Might there perhaps be another reason?"

He saw the compassion in her eyes and looked down into his soup. "Of course there is, but he does not need to know it."

With that declaration, Patience slapped the table herself and got up. "Well then, I think I'll get back to my work, Captain."

Struggling against the gag in her mouth, Ceara twisted her hands but could not loosen the bonds holding them behind her back. She glared meaningfully at the fur draped back of the brave who had shoved and pushed her, finally lifting her atop Pierce as if she was a spoiled child. Even if he had managed to turn and see her expression she doubted it would trouble him at all. With a frustrated snort she shifted her gaze ahead, following the line of men marching ahead, this time unable to catch any glimpse of Aaron. The line zigzagged downward through the mountains no doubt headed for the mighty Hudson River. With the thick forests and snow covered landscape she wondered how anyone could discern the way, especially due to the fact that they were plodding along determinedly through the darkness of night.

Here the snow was knee deep even for the tall braves who had captured them. Reluctantly grateful to be riding, she knew on her it would be hip deep. As she gazed ahead she could not help but worry for Aaron's safety, and even her own should anything happen to him. For the past hour she had gone through every conceivable fear in her mind, telling herself that meditating on the unknown was a dangerous pursuit. Finally settling upon her own silent prayers for him to be spared, she wished she had been more attentive to the book Aaron had handed her back in the library at the inn. It no doubt would have been helpful in enlightening her as to what to expect from their Indian captors.

As the trail narrowed and passed dangerously close along the edge of the cliff she tensed, hearing a shout from ahead to where a group of them were gathering in a small. Alarmed, she squinted against the darkness and gasped when she saw Aaron jerked out of line and held aside while the line continued its descent. As she drew closer she saw him lean forward and hang between two braves who clutched his arms and looked in her direction, obviously waiting for something.

_Please God, spare him!_ she prayed, meeting the mocking smile of the brave guarding her as he turned to grin up at her. Suddenly he jerked the reins and Pierce snorted in protest, stumbling along at a faster rate. They came up alongside Aaron, who still hung his head and did not resist his guards. Even when they halted at his side he failed to respond. Not knowing what to expect, she was startled by the brave's hand on her calf, pushing and gesturing for her to move up. Then it occurred to her what they were about and her heart surged in excitement.

Just then Aaron grunted in pain and fell to his knees, the men cursing and protesting in their own language as they pulled him back up. Biting the cloth between her teeth, she kicked at her own guard who threw back his head and laughed. Before long Aaron was lifted behind her despite much arguing and muted protestations among their captors. He was forced to raise his arms over her before a rope fell over their heads and snagged tight, binding them together. Pierce was slapped into motion as she felt Aaron lean heavily against her back. His hands displaced hers on the pommel and she was forced to grip his ropes to steady herself. His head dropped to her shoulder and rolled to the space between her neck and shoulder. She knew that if he lost consciousness and slipped off, so would she. Then what would they do, she wondered? Kill them instead of trouble themselves with such a burden? She curled her fingertips into his knuckles and held on, hoping the pressure would keep him awake.

They moved rapidly despite the ice and snow covering the boulders and moss. After a few minutes she felt him lift off and turned her head only enough to see him from the corner of her eye, fearful of attracting too much attention. Feeling the weight of his gaze she dared to turn a bit more until she was staring into the silvery light of his eyes. What she saw took her breath away, for he was alert and intent upon her features. Tearing her eyes from his she noted the gag in his mouth and looked back up as he nodded once before lowering his head back to her shoulder. And then she knew: he had pretended to be faint just to be near her!

Slowly turning back she felt her eyes flood with tears at the thought that this might be the end of their time together, before their life really started. Her throat choked with emotion but she forced herself to concentrate on the fact that he had a plan. All was not lost, she told herself. Someone would surely see that they had been kidnapped, and of course Captain Burke would be looking for them. As if in confirmation she felt his elbows press into her sides as he shifted behind her. Then she felt his cheek nuzzle the side of her neck, its prickly whiskers gently abrading the tender skin there. Stiff with fear, she stared at the braves surrounding them, but their attention was on their footing. Slowly leaning backward, she lifted her shoulder just enough to cradle his face against her neck, closing her eyes in response to the waves of longing crashing within her.

Aaron cradled her in his arms, feeling her fear and offering comfort as best he could. After a moment she seemed to understand what he was doing and relaxed a bit, then to his surprise slowly lifted her bound hands from his to rest them upon his thigh. Affected greatly by the intimacy of her gesture, he suddenly longed to kiss her again, even though it made no sense. Yet his mind raced through the past weeks spent with her as if in summation of their entire relationship. He faced the fact that despite his resolve not to, he had grown increasingly attracted to her. From the beginning he had found her tough exterior and intelligence fascinating and later, when he'd finally allowed himself the luxury of acknowledging her beauty, he began to crave her presence. Filled with regret for not having revealed his feelings to her sooner, he worried that it was too late. All he could do now was shield her in his mock embrace as he planned for a way to outsmart their captors. Even as he did so, he could not help himself as he nudged his face against her neck in an effort to communicate how he felt about her. She stiffened in surprise and he froze, waiting until he heard her soft intake of breath. Then she slowly stretched back against him and he was struck by a combination of joy and pleasure at her response. In that moment he vowed to somehow make it up to her if given the opportunity.

It was a good indication that his plan to feign weakness had actually worked. He'd known his decision to nearly pass out from hiking could have very well gotten him tomahawked and left behind without as much as a backward glance. Yet for some reason these men had taken pity on him, or perhaps thought he would make a better trade alive than dead. But it was Ceara for whom he feared, though it seemed her feisty behavior had amused their captors and would hopefully lead them to the same conclusion and spare her life. It all depended upon their identity, which still eluded him.

They were not Oneida yet neither were they Mohawks, who were far more dangerous and had a long history of siding with the British. Judging from the few snatches of conversation he was able to interpret, he sensed they were desperate and homeless, having had their lands burned and pillaged by raids sweeping eastward along the Mohawk River. As to where they were headed he could only guess, and pray that it had nothing to do with either Mohawks or British.

After nearly another hour he nudged Ceara awake, sensing her fear when she straightened and pulled away from him. They found themselves at the bank of the river and pulled to a halt. Several braves approached them, pulled the rope away and snatched them roughly from Pierce's back. He watched Ceara stare after the stallion as he was led away to an unknown fate. Glancing heavenward, Aaron judged it a few hours before dawn before his attention was captured by the activity along the bank. They watched tiredly as the brush was pushed from several canoes lying hidden along the water's edge. To his deep regret Ceara was led away despite her struggles and many kicks which found their target. To her credit she did not cast him a backward glances, and he forced himself to appear as unaffected by the decision. As he was shoved toward a canoe he stole glances in her direction, marking the one into which she was deposited and shoved to the floor. His was the first to head into the water, and he was seized with fear as he wondered if she could swim or not. Preparing himself for what would undoubtedly be a turbulent and dangerous crossing, he noted the wide spread of the river, unable to see the other side but familiar enough with it from past experience. Other hostile tribes patrolled the area beyond, but he was shoved low and covered with a canvas, left to pray for her safe and quick passage.

Dizzy from exhaustion, Ceara trudged onward through the snow as dawn lit the forest enveloping them. It had been a terrifying crossing, so wildly had their canoe pitched and nearly capsized. The worst part was being hidden under a canvas, unable to see and get her bearings as they fought the currents of the river. That had been hours ago, and still she knew nothing of Aaron's whereabouts, nor Pierce's. Their party had split into two smaller groups, hers suddenly speeding up their trek as excitement seemed to pass through the line. One brave at the head of her group broke into a run, leading a few others as she was shoved faster along in their wake. Finally she spotted something different in the monotonous forest panorama, what looked like the outline of a rise and horizontally laid logs. Along her left was a small swath of cleared land, telling her that they were finally drawing nearer their destination.

_Civilization!_ She would have shouted had her mouth not been gagged. Was it a fort? A village? Surely they would be traded for supplies and weapons, she thought hopefully, her eyes searching the horizon. Aaron had said they had a long journey to the village, and now she felt confident that this was the place to which he had referred. Her heart sang despite the warning in her mind that they might be sold as indentured servants, or even worse passed from one group of Indians to another. She could end up either a slave or wife to an Indian, so turning her head to search the dimly lit woods behind her she longed for a glimpse of her husband.

The braves ahead of them announced their coming with whoops of joy, and as they jogged faster toward the clearing rising before them she felt her hopes sink toward despair. There nestled in the cradle of birch and evergreen was the first of a group of longhouses, white and glistening in the gray light of dawn. As she stared at them in disbelief, she heard other shouts and shifted her attention to her right, finally spotting the other group. And in that long line of braves one stood out who was different: Aaron!

He walked between two large warriors at the front of the line, and she saw them pass and precede her group into the village. Winding their way up to the plateau upon which the village stood, she studied it carefully and counted ten houses, high and awesome in structure, smoke curling out from the center of each roof. By the time they finally stopped before a huge boulder at the center of the village she stumbled sideways, steadied by the brave who then shoved her alongside Aaron. She found herself standing at his side before a group of elderly men and women who studied them with somber expressions. To her dismay Aaron did not look at her or acknowledge her presence, so focused was his attention the oldest man who stood directly before him.

The chief wore a hood and cloak of fur, with pieces of gray and white pelts sewn together and covering a long black robe that was beautifully decorated with the likenesses of wolves and stars. The women, she noted, were dressed similarly, and as she studied them as discretely as she could manage she was aware of Aaron's voice breaking the silence. Turning her head to stare at him, she watched his lips move quickly as he spoke in their language, his tone intent, his only reference to her one inclination of his head in her direction.

When he finished silence reigned for a moment, followed by a low murmurs of what sounded like surprise and admiration. For a moment she was stunned by the realization of how little she knew of her new husband. At the same time she was awed by the command in his manner and voice. Trying not to let her feelings show, she kept her head down, lifting only her eyes toward the chief. And when she did she was surprised to see the tiny grin lifting the corners of his lips. Unable to look away, she watched in fascination as the weathered skin of his face crinkled into a near smile. He spoke briefly and gestured in her direction, then turned and stalked off toward the nearest house, followed by the group of women and several of the more decorated men of the village. To her surprise their ropes were cut and she found herself able to bring her arms forward, though with considerable pain and stiffness. Dragging one hand to her mouth she pulled out the gag and swallowed convulsively, shifting her eyes to Aaron. In one glorious moment his eyes met hers and held, but in them she saw a warning.

_Behave yourself…_ he seemed to be telling her, his face stern and without expression. An arm snaked around her and she was dragged from his side, kicking and watching Aaron turn and be escorted away. Taking her cue from his calm acceptance of the situation, she straightened regally and cooperated. Her last glimpse of her husband told her that he was admitted to the longhouse into which the chief had disappeared, while she was led in the opposite direction. Afraid and confused, she was left alone to wonder at the fate that awaited them.

_c. 2008 by Christine Levitt_


	14. Chapter 14 Introductions

_**Chapter 14 Introductions**_

Her escort shoved her along despite her compliance, though perhaps a bit less roughly than before. He led her toward the opposite end of the village from the place she had seen Aaron being led, and she had to work hard to keep her steps in pace with his. Finally entering the most distant building they entered without pretense, where he finally released her arm with a grunt of satisfaction, no doubt happy to be rid of her. She swayed but caught herself, glaring up at him despite the mocking smile on his face. With a fake bow of politeness he turned and took his leave as she hugged herself against another fit of shivering. She stayed where he had left her, squinting in an attempt to see into the darkened confines of the building.

It wasn't long before she realized that with her appearance all activity inside came to an abrupt halt. Grateful to be out of the cold after many hours of hard travel, she stared into the common room and began to count the eyes fixed upon her. There were nearly two dozen people inside, all interrupted from their morning activities by her arrival. Feeling conspicuous, she stared at the large fire burning at the center of the room, dazed by the heat beckoning her and the allure of the wonderful aromas rising from the cooking pots arranged around its circumference. Her stomach growled loudly as her mouth watered, distracting her from her fervent prayers for mercy both for her and Aaron's sake.

Three women moved slowly toward her, forming a semicircle as they studied her in frank fascination. Now that her eyesight had adjusted to the change in light, she noted how much taller and older in age they were. Suffering their silent and critical examination of her person, she became painfully aware of her muddy and damp men's clothing, crinkling her numb toes inside Jamie's heavy boots to restore their feeling. The oldest woman took a step closer to take hold of the tail of her hair, running her fingers over the tight braid she had wound as if to examine the texture of her hair. Another reached up and snatched off her hat, and still another picked at her baggy coat sleeve. The one holding her braid frowned, glaring at the others and firing off orders in perfectly executed French. Struggling to remember a language she had not spoken since her school days, Ceara met her mocking smile as she focused upon the one word she was sure of. It was the word preceding Aaron's mispronounced name.

_Wife_… the wife of Aah-ha-ron.

"Yes," she croaked, finding her voice and lifting her chin, "I am Aaron's wife," she confirmed in her best French. Inwardly pleased by their shocked expressions, she found herself barraged by a rapid question and comment session until she raised a hand to stop them. Attempting to explain her language deficiency she noted their concentration, which quickly turned to genuine amusement and snickers behind raised fists.

"So you know Aaron, " she attempted to say in French. "I wish…to see him."

Apparently unimpressed by her efforts, the elder stepped grasped her shoulders and turned her around to peel off her damp coat.

"Thank you," she gasped, shrugging one arm free without bothering to translate, "but I am quite capable of taking it off myself!" she stated, shaking her arm out with dramatic flare. As she studied the wet stains covering nearly all her clothing she heard the coat hit the woven husk mats with a wet slap. A woolen blanket swept around her before she could speak, yet she grasped it close despite its scratchy feel. "Merci," she breathed, nodding to the youngest woman before the elder took her arm and shoved her toward the fire. Shivering yet again, she tolerated their hands forcing her to sit before the fire, and then saw the humor in her situation. Laughing aloud, she felt her emotions unravel despite her worry for Aaron's predicament. Surely he had earned the chief's respect by now, she reassured herself based upon the rough kindness of these women.

They had left her alone by the fire, and she met the gaze of a boy of about 12 years of age as he spooned a thick, yellow porridge into his mouth. To her surprise he smiled and leaned forward, handing his bowl to her. Staring at him in disbelief, she noted how beautiful his dark eyes were, how finely formed his face and hands were. He grinned and nudged the bowl toward her and she took it with some reluctance, despite her hunger. When he rose and left the fire she quickly spooned some into her own mouth, closing her eyes in delight. The hot gruel slid over her tongue with warm sweetness, and she held it in her mouth to savor its taste and warmth. It was delicious and creamy, and when she swallowed it she moaned in delight, feeling it slide down the inside of her throat toward her stomach.

One by one the others joined her to eat, dining without comment with some haste. She spent the next few moments eating slowly, knowing that it was the wise thing to do after going so long with nothing to eat. Before she realized it her bowl was snatched away and she was being pulled to her feet. Despite her protests and thanks she was led down a hallway, passing by what appeared to be separate sleeping quarters. Overhead she could see ropes and bundles of food drying, corn and shafts of grains bound together, alongside tied stalks of herbs hung upside down. Everything that she could see spoke of careful planning and provision, which she found somewhat reassuring.

If only Aaron were here, she thought tiredly, wanting to ask for him but sensing her question would go unanswered, at least for the time being. She was escorted into a small room at the back of the longhouse, inside which the air was colder and the light dimmer. It appeared to be a small storeroom, yet as she stood by the women shoved barrels and bolts of fabric to one side to clear a space. Two adolescent boys entered after a short time, dragging what appeared to be a cornhusk mattress. They left while the women fussed over its condition, only to return with armloads of blankets and furs. In a few moments they had made up an inviting double bed, the sight of which made her nearly cry for joy. The boys left and her blanket was tugged from her hands as the women crowded around her once again.

Despite her protests and threats she found herself quickly rid her of her clothing, suffering their laughter and scolding for her attempts at modesty. Just as a blanket was wrapped around her one of the boys returned dragging a large metal tub. The other entered soon after toting two pails of water which he poured into the tub. The temptation of a bath caused her to display her best behavior as she waited, thinking that it had been nearly three days since her last one. When it was finally filled halfway the women parted and she was led to it, at that point not caring about her nakedness as they helped her into the warm water. Suddenly feeling drained and exhausted, she slipped under the lukewarm water and shivered, letting them scrub her and wash her hair without putting up a struggle.

Within half an hour she found herself dried, hair braided into two long braids and dressed as they were in leggings and a long overdress. Though she called for Aaron from time to time they shook their heads and finally led her to the bed, forcing her down and covering her up with several layers of blankets and furs. Wiping their hands and picking up her dirty clothing they filed out of the room and shut the crude door. Clutching the blankets to her chin, she listened to their low conversations as their soft footsteps led them away. Finally left in peace, she stared at the door, sensing someone stationed just outside to no doubt guard and block her way. Too tired to care anymore, she closed her eyes and gave in to an intense longing for rest. Her last conscious thoughts might have been dreams of Aaron's arms around her, his voice whispering into her ear.

_**The sound of heavy steps in the hall**_ awoke her sometime later. Shooting to a sitting position, she glanced down at the Indian clothing she wore, momentarily confused and dazed. Remembering where she was, she shoved aside the bed coverings and sprang to her feet just as someone knocked upon the door. _Aaron!_

"Come in!" she called, surprised at the hoarseness of her own voice. Surely he would come to her at last, she expected as she stared at the door, smoothing her hair back from her face. When it opened to reveal an older man, a white man, she was both disappointed and surprised. _Where was Aaron?_ she worried, watching the man lean close to speak to the young brave at his side. His eyes remained fixed upon her but she noted the respect he commanded from her guard as the boy nodded and left them alone.

"Allow me to introduce myself—"

"Where is Aaron?" she demanded, her eyes searching the empty space behind him in disbelief.

"Madame please—"

"He should have been back by now—"

"Won't you come join me by the fire, so that we may talk?" he soothed. "Though I regret to inform you lunch and dinner have passed since your arrival, but if we hurry we can catch breakfast—"

She flew toward him, gripping his arm with both hands. "Please, sir, tell me where he is," she pleaded. "Is he all right—I confess to fearing for his safety and health!"

To her astonishment he chuckled and tugged the arm she gripped with both hands. "I am sure Aaron is fine," he apologized, patting her hand in reassurance. "You will no doubt see him as soon as he is free."

"Truly?" she breathed, forcing herself to loosen her grip on him. "I'm sorry—it is just that I have not seen him since our arrival—"

"Please, come join me for a bite," he suggested, leading her out of the room and down the hall toward the great room. "My name is Harrison Mitchell, incidentally," he stated her, stretching his arm toward the fire where the older women were clearing away the used pots and bowls. When they saw him they smiled shyly, encouraging them both to sit before serving them. He conversed with them in their native language, and after listening for a moment Ceara decided the language beyond her ability to learn. It contained many sounds voiced from the back of the throat rather than the tongue, heavily accented with whatever native language they spoke. She marveled at Aaron's competence in speaking it, vaguely hoping it would earn him some amount of favor.

"Now then, tell me your name," he ordered gently.

She did, thanking the girl who handed her a bowl of porridge before she stared at him in gratitude. "You are very kind, sir—I must admit it a relief to meet someone who speaks English."

He nodded, holding his bowl between both hands. "A moment to give thanks," he requested, closing his eyes and praying for a blessing upon their food and time together, and for Aaron to be free from whatever responsibilities were detaining him.

Ceara studied him covertly as he prayed, wondering about his presence in this place. It was obvious that he was not a captive, but judging by his clothing and grooming he had not grown up among the Indians. For one thing, the native people respected him a great deal, extending respect and deference to him.

"In the name of our blessed Lord, amen," he finished, opening his eyes and looking into her open stare.

"Amen!" she added softly, too curious to feign polite conversation. "What are you doing here, Mr. Mitchell?"

He swallowed the spoonful of gruel and smiled. "Having breakfast with you," he teased. "And it is 'Reverend' if you aren't comfortable calling me by my given name."

Her eyes widened as realization dawned. "You're a missionary!" she whispered, glancing around but seeing that their conversation earned no apparent interest. Daily activities continued without interruption as they ate.

"That I am," he chuckled, nodding toward the main group of people working in the kitchen area. "But fear not, Ceara—may I call you by your given name?" When she nodded, he continued. "You are surrounded by Christians, in fact very devout ones if I have judged them correctly."

She took a moment to examine her surroundings with that revelation. "So you have had success, then?" she asked, sampling another spoonful of the delicious gruel.

"Yes, praise God," he said after swallowing. "The Oneida have the most open hearts and spirits I have ever encountered among Iroquois."

Feeling a bit more relieved, Ceara studied his intelligent face. "Then they will not torture or greatly mistreat us," she hoped.

He chuckled again. "I doubt they will, but you are wise to be cautious," he told her. "Their brother Iroquois are another matter entirely."

She shrugged. "You never know what to expect from Indians."

His gaze narrowed upon hers. "Nor the Whites, for that matter."

She swallowed and searched his features with frank curiosity. "Have you seen my husband since his arrival, Mitchell?" she asked carefully.

"No, I confess that I have not," he admitted. "In fact, I have only just arrived myself, called to the same council meeting no doubt."

"Aaron is in a council meeting?" she breathed, finally understanding what was taking so long.

"That is my understanding," he admitted, "and I look forward to seeing him again—Aaron is a good friend of mine, one of the best in many ways."

She turned her attention back to her breakfast, hoping he would not see the blush rising up her neck. "I am honored to meet any friend of his," she said quietly.

"I was overjoyed to hear of his having married," he said gently, waiting for her to look up. When she did he smiled. "For me, it is an answer to prayer."

_And for me,_ she thought, keeping her expression calm. What would he think if he knew theirs was only a marriage of convenience? "We were only just married, Reverend..."

"Ah, I see—how long had you known each other, before deciding?" he wanted to know.

Embarrassed, she felt his gaze studying her closely. It was no use hiding the truth from an old friend of Aaron's, much less a minister of God. "Not long…you see, sir, it was a marriage of convenience, though I have the utmost respect for Aaron—"

"Convenience?" he whispered, his spoon held aloft as his brow wrinkled with concern.

"Yes…we found ourselves facing difficult circumstances at the time, and marriage provided a sensible solution."

He gazed at her critically a moment before he seemed to catch himself. "Respect is an important element in any marriage."

"Yes, sir...I agree."

There was a lengthy pause, during which she ate two spoonfuls of gruel, finding her stomach already satisfied. Somehow she sensed his disapproval, though his expression was reserved. After a moment his brows raised but to a barely noticeable level.

"You are fond of him, however?" he ventured to ask, making it sound like a casual question.

"Oh yes, sir," she breathed, glancing down at her half filled bowl. "Very fond..."

He breathed deeply, capturing her attention. She could see the distress in his expression as he shook his head. "Aaron has had a very difficult life, my dear…"

Though she waited for him to elaborate, he only nodded. "He is however a man of his word, and will surely honor his commitment to you."

_Whatever that is_ she nearly replied, sensing they both wondered the same thing. She felt the creep of apprehension tickling up the back of her spine.

"Yes," she breathed, thankful that two of the women were headed in their direction to apparently interrupt their discussion. "I am sure he will."

_**Aaron stepped outside the meeting house,**_ squinting against the bright light of day as he waited for whoever had summoned him from the crucial meeting. Gazing toward the far end of the village he spotted Wenonah marching toward him and knew that it must have been her. She was the only one with enough power to interrupt such crucial negotiations.

Sure enough, she strode up to within two paces of him and shoved her hands unto her hips, signaling the inevitable. He held her accusing glare as he massaged the back of his neck, ready to hear her latest report.

"I am through with this responsibility," she complained, nodding toward the council meeting which was already two days into motion. "Ask to be excused at least until tomorrow morning."

He gazed past her toward the longhouse where he knew Ceara was waiting for him. "What is it now?" he sighed.

The elder crossed her arms. "Having breakfast with the Reverend," she said tightly. "He at least was gracious enough to heed my request."

Aaron swerved his gaze back to her disapproving frown. "Mitchell is here?"

"Breakfast—while the _rest _of the village is preparing supper!"

"Are they getting along well?"

"Why don't you go see for yourself!" she accused, pointing her finger at him. "It is long past time you see to your own wife."

"The Chief will never approve—"

"I will speak to him—"

"But it's my fault the balance was thrown off—"

"Men are impossible!" she spat, throwing up her hands. "If it weren't for your little wife I would be in that meeting—ever since your arrival she has been asking for you, concerned for your wellbeing as if _we _were mistreating you—"

"I'm sorry, Wenonah—she doesn't understand the situation—"

"Because you have not told her, have you?"

He looked away, effectively chastised. "I haven't had the opportunity."

She huffed in protest. "I thought you should also know that she has attempted to escape several times and we have had to place a guard at her door every night to prevent her interrupting the meeting."

Aaron looked up, meeting her gaze and realizing how he had overestimated Ceara's capacity for patience. "I will make an inquiry to be dismissed early," he agreed. "Until then Harrison will keep her occupied—"

"The duty is yours, not his!" she hissed. "He was called to attend, and awaits the Chief's summons."

"All right—perhaps he can take my place until the recess for dinner—"

She gripped his sleeve. "Spend the night with her," she advised, keeping her voice low. "It is only natural for those newly wed to do so—the council will understand, in fact encourage it."

Torn between taking her advice and braving the ultimatum he was withholding until the proper time, Aaron weighed his choices. He had endured two long days listening to the reports of each council member in an effort to prove his support and deference; perhaps it was finally time to speak up. He only hoped doing so would not prove premature. Ceara needed him, and he was more exhausted than he'd felt in days, to the point where he was finding it difficult to concentrate.

At his hesitation her eyes narrowed on his. She released his arm and put her hands back onto her hips. "You have not consummated the marriage have you?" she whispered disapprovingly. He pursed his lips but she continued. "That young woman needs you, and she deserves an explanation."

He shook his head. "We were married under duress—"

"That no longer matters—I speak boldly in the absence of your own elders who might advise you."

"I respect your wisdom—and I appreciate all that you've done."

She nodded, her glare softening. "I will speak to the chief on your behalf," she said, her eyes darting to the brave who stepped out to escort him back in. As Aaron nodded to him she linked her arm through the brave's. "In fact, I cannot think of a better time to do it," she announced, preceding him inside.

_**By the time Reverend Mitchell excused himself**_ it was late afternoon. Time had passed quickly, and Ceara was confident that he would keep his word, assuring her that at his earliest opportunity he would speak to Aaron on her behalf. As she stood at the entrance of the longhouse watching him make his way toward the council meting, she pondered all that they had discussed during their walk through the village. Not only had he shown her the school and church he had established among the Oneida, but he had also given her a glimpse into a bit of Aaron's past.

They had met nearly five years earlier at a trading post downriver and had been friends ever since. At the time, she learned, Aaron had been working with a local silversmith as a craftsman, all the while gathering information he secretly forwarded on to the office of General Washington. Doing business with a wealthy Tory clientele as well as British officers stationed in the area, he had traveled throughout the northern colonies as an intelligence officer working under the cover of his craft. At times when deemed necessary he would appear from some obscure assigned post and serve directly under British command in Boston, only to be routed off on special assignment to take care of Crown military business. Rev. Mitchell was his only confidant with the exception of Captain Burke, and all three men knew each other well.

She had learned that it was only recently that Aaron had concentrated his covert efforts upon building and nurturing an alliance between the Oneida and local patriots, a dangerous preoccupation in what was predominantly Loyalist territory. As Rev. Mitchell quietly shared his experiences with Aaron, she knew that she had been given a wonderful opportunity to see the value of his character and reputation, and her respect for him grew considerably. To her great regret, however, Rev. Mitchell knew nothing of what his life had been like before he entered military service. His family and background were her primary interests, yet she had no idea where he hailed from or what his family was like. Did he have a large family, or was he an only child? What other friends did he have, and what were his interests and hobbies? All these details unfortunately remained a mystery.

By the time Rev. Mitchell had already disappeared from sight and she noted the sinking sun, she turned and nodded to the brave guarding the entrance, stepping back inside. Pulling off the woolen blanket serving as her cape, she scanned the great room for a sign of the woman under whose charge she had obviously been placed. Finding her strangely absent, Ceara realized that she did not even know her name and therefore could not ask her whereabouts, even in her broken French. Feeling useless and bored, she watched the women working to prepare dinner and determined to help. It seemed they were busy preparing what could only be categorized as a great banquet of some sort, hopefully one that would mark the end of the council meeting and so release Aaron from his duties to attend. Maybe she could join these women and get in as part of the servers, she thought with a glimmer of hope.

Already forewarned by Rev. Mitchell not to sneak into the closed meeting, she eyed the brave who was studying her in silence and signed with resignation. There had been no way to escape without his notice so far, and his replacement was even more adept at tracking her whereabouts. Approaching the women she gestured that she wanted to help, and was promptly put into service scrubbing winter squash to prepare it for boiling. So began her plan to insinuate herself into the wait staff who would probably be carrying the food into the meeting. It might just be possible, with her female overseer absent, she smiled inwardly. All she wanted was a change to see her husband, catch his eye and somehow let him know that they needed to plan their escape. Surely he would agree that that although they were not quite prisoners here, neither were they free to come and go as they pleased.

Taking her assigned place at the crude wooden counter, she dried the tough outer skins and cut them open, scooping out the seeds before they could be cooked. Admittedly, she had been treated well enough since being brought to this house, and no one had disturbed her while she slept half the day of her arrival and halfway into the next. Because of this she felt unusually well rested, with more stamina than she had felt in a long time. Yet as she carried the squash to the kettles and set it to simmer, she worried over Aaron's health. It was doubtful that he had been given the same privilege, whether by force or by his own choosing. It had not been long since he had risen prematurely from his sickbed, and ever since that day he had endured difficult circumstances with only a few hours of sleep.

Sitting before the simmering kettles of squash, she poked at the pieces with a long fork, wiping the perspiration from her brow with the back of one hand. It was surprisingly warm inside, and she had to admit the furnishings were adequate though somewhat crude. Glancing overhead at the food hanging from the ceiling, she took a deep breath and inhaled the pleasant aromas of the feast being prepared.

What would it be like, she wondered, to cook and make a home for Aaron? Had he even enjoyed such a luxury, given his work and traveling? Or did he make his home here, or at the inn where they had stayed? How much longer would it be until they set out for Fort Schuyler, and see her brother? What would Aaron do after that, continue on his way? Go off to war and leave her there? All these questions plagued her and made her desperate to see him, to talk to him. It would be a wise thing to do, she told herself, to set all these aside and content herself with just seeing him again. Anything beyond that would be entertaining fantasy. So, following Rev. Mitchell's advice, she vowed to have faith that despite the fact that their future hung before them like a dark empty space, a greater hand was at work guiding and protecting them.

Suddenly there was a flurry of activity and exclamations of concern among the women, and she turned to see them rushing about. Just then the elder woman she had sought was there, standing at the entrance. Behind her was a glorious sunset, shocking Ceara by the amount of time she must have passed daydreaming. Rising and setting aside the fork, she turned to face her as she came directly toward her. Trying not to stare at the beautiful costume she was wearing, Ceara realized how attractive a woman she was, with her hair bound beneath a beaded cap, her wise eyes and nearly perfect skin. Wondering how old she was, Ceara noted the formal black overdress and leggings that were decorated with colorful designs of flowers. As she forced a smile the woman reached for her arm without saying a word and led her back toward her room, speaking to two of the women to come along. Whatever fate they had planned for her, Ceara decided to cooperate or suffer the punishment of solitary confinement in her room, with a guard posted at the door.

Pushing open her door, the woman urged her inside, the other two chattering excitedly as they began to unbraid her hair and unlace the back of her tunic. With a fervent protest upon her lips she glanced toward the bed and stopped, catching sight of the clothing laid out upon her bed. Tearing her gaze from the beautiful dove grey tunic with white beadwork and matching leggings, she turned to the woman in surprise, laying a hand over her heart.

"For me?" she gasped, noting with some amazement the hint of a smile at the corner of her mouth. She nodded and crossed her arms as Ceara shook off the women's hands and clutched her ordinary garment to her breasts.

"I can dress myself!" she insisted, stepping away from them toward the bed.

"You must hurry if you wish to see your husband," a commanding voice spoke in perfect English as Ceara whirled around to face her.

Their gazes collided a moment before Ceara found her tongue. "You speak English!" she accused, approaching her woman as she nodded to the women concerning some preordained task. "You let me struggle with French all this time—"

"It was a learning experience, oui?" she answered, her eyes twinkling with humor.

Considering this a moment, Ceara nodded reluctantly and stepped out of her plain leggings at their urging, holding onto the arm of the nearest one in order to keep her balance. "I suppose one might say that; now may I ask your name, Madame?"

The woman watched with approving eyes as the formal garment was dropped over her head and fastened at the back of her neck. "Wenonah," she answered, "but we haven't long before we must serve the council their evening meal."

Ceara stepped into the soft grey leggings and fastened them around her waist. The fit was perfect, though she doubted they had been made for her. "Is he well?" she dared ask her.

The elder's brow furrowed a bit. "He needs to rest," she answered, "and we have had to insist that he do so."

Letting the women undo her hair, Ceara studied her aloof expression. "Are you saying that he has willfully stayed away?"

"Not at all: yet his presence was of vital importance to our shared purposes."

"Rev. Mitchell has spoken to me about Aaron's work among your people, yet I wonder about the rough treatment we suffered during our journey here."

Wenonah frowned. "It was Tuscarora who brought you to us," she stated. "They were not aware of your husband's importance."

"Tuscarora?"

"Our younger brothers," Wenonah added, reaching for a small clay bowl and handing it to the younger woman. "They do not always share our love for peace."

"Is that what Aaron is fighting for, at the council meeting?" she could not help asking.

"Unfortunately it is the opposite," Wenonah answered, following her to the bed where she sat down and pulled on a matching pair of soft moccasins. "Your patriot cause suffers greatly by our brothers who have chosen to remain loyal to the British Crown. Your husband has been working hard to convince the Six Nations to unify with us by changing their allegiance against the Crown."

Ceara nodded, not sure she wanted to hear this woman's side of the story when Aaron had told her nothing of the situation. As she sat back at their urging, she looked up at Wenonah sheepishly. "I did not realize the importance of the situation …I hope you will accept my apology for behaving like such a harridan earlier."

Wenonah put her hands on her hips, her expression puzzled. "Harridan?"

Ceara laughed softly, feeling her color rise. "It means a person who is scolding and unpleasant in their manner."

For a moment it seemed that Wenonah might burst out laughing, but she restrained herself. "Apology accepted; now we must concentrate on making you even more beautiful so that your husband will not be able to concentrate."

Again Ceara felt momentarily speechless, making Wenonah's smile even broader. "But I thought you supported his efforts—"

"I did until he just issued the ultimatum everyone had hoped to avoid," she explained. "For now the chief thinks it wise he dismiss himself to avoid alienating the others. It has now become a matter for Iroquois consideration alone. It is our hope that, so as not to offend your husband, your presence will provide him a distraction in order to soften the blow of our dismissing him outright. That way he earns their greater respect by knowing when to let us make our own decisions and dismiss himself as diplomatically as possible."

"He wishes to preserve Aaron's reputation?" Ceara asked softly.

"Of course: you may not know this about him, See-rah," Wenonah said, using her name for the first time. "But your husband can be overzealous at times, not always realizing the danger in which he places himself."

"Would not my presence weaken his reputation?" Ceara wondered, fearful that she might have already said or done something to make the situation worse.

"On the contrary, your presence will excuse his behavior," Wenonah said confidently.

"I don't understand—"

"Rev. Mitchell has been teaching us about marriage," Wenonah stated, a teasing glint in her eyes. "He has shown us the commands in Scripture concerning the newly married man."

Intrigued, Ceara waited for her to explain what she meant. She had never heard of such a thing herself.

"According to Scripture, a newly married man must not work for an entire year, but instead take time to care for, cherish and pleasure his wife."

Ceara felt herself redden, for once thankful that the other women did not understand her language. "I was not aware of that advice," she said thickly.

Wenonah laughed softly and laid a hand on her shoulder. "The chief has asked Rev. Mitchell to enlighten your husband as well," she added. "When you have coaxed him from the meeting, then Rev. Mitchell will share it with the others present. It should help to lighten the mood considerably."

"I should say so," Ceara breathed, glanced away in embarrassment. She tensed as someone fastened her beaded braids atop her head.

"You will enjoy your privacy together for two days' time, after which you will be escorted on your way," Wenonah continued. "Your horse is being well cared for in the interim. No one will disturb you until that time."

Ceara had wondered about Pierce's fate, and as she was urged to her feet she smiled gratefully at them. "Thank you all for what you have done for us," she replied. "We are in your debt."

"You owe us nothing," Wenonah said regally. "Now, shall we prepare to serve the men?"

As they rejoined the other women and stacked the food onto great wooden trays, she lifted hers and moved into line, her thoughts on their conversation. Never would she have guessed they would be treated in such a manner, especially by Iroquois. But reminding herself to take nothing for granted, she stood tall and followed the others down the steps and across the common area toward the meeting house. Resting in the plans already made for them, she began to prepare herself mentally and emotionally for what just might prove to be their first night together without the weight of Aaron's responsibilities weighing down upon them. She smiled at the thought of their conspiracy, thinking it fit that he was being ordered to rest. If left to himself, she doubted he would ever choose to do so. And even better, she was to have a part in forcing him into it.

_c. 2008 by Christine Levitt_


	15. Chapter 15 The Council Meeting

_**Chapter 15 The Council Meeting**_

Aaron glanced toward the entrance in mid-sentence, wondering what had pulled away every eye in the large hall. Losing his train of thought he felt his words trail off into stunned silence as loud cheers and applause erupted at the line of servers entering the room. Rev. Mitchell's brief private sermon burned in his memory as he spotted his wife among the ranks of women carrying trays of welcome food, the aroma of which was already filling the room and promptly ending their meeting. She walked with them in single file as they circled around the back perimeter of the room and began to set down their trays. The light of the fire illuminated her face in a soft glow and he stared at her while lowering himself back to his seat. It had been only a few days since he'd last seen her, yet his eyes were riveted to her smaller stature, taking note of the Indian clothing she wore and the elaborate, feminine arrangement of her dark hair atop her head. His mouth went dry and his heart pounded with longing as he watched her, not seeing the curious glances thrown in his direction and ricocheting toward his wife. Like the other women, she finished spooning an assortment of different foods onto a smaller tray and lifted that, starting toward him as different sections of guests were served individually. His eyes followed her graceful movements, though she averted her eyes until she came and knelt at his side. Then, looking directly into his astonished gaze with a tiny smile playing about her lips, she greeted him silently, her head nodding once in acknowledgement. The firelight made her eyes appear navy in color, huge and probing as she held his, causing a hush to settle over those nearest him. Somehow he was aware of her setting the tray down before him, and of Wenonah kneeling at his other side to serve her husband, the chief.

Ceara looked past him toward them, and he turned his head just in time to catch the twinkle in the chief's eyes as he nodded to her in approval. Feeling her hand on his sleeve, Aaron turned to meet her soft smile as she lifted a plate toward him. She was so close that he caught the intoxicating scent of her hair and skin and was vaguely aware of her nudging the plate against his hand. Looking down he saw the winter squash and beans, as well as neatly sliced venison. It was berries, he decided, glancing up at the curve of her cheek where her skin lifted in a subtle smile. It clung to her skin and hair, and he was thankful that he had taken the time to bathe and shave at their brief morning recess. Taking the plate, he watched her turn to offer him a bowl as she kept her gaze upon his hands.

"Ceara," he whispered as the volume of conversation rose to a conversational level. He felt her fingers brush his and took the bowl offered, wondering if he imagined her fingertips lingering over his knuckles, so brief was the contact. When she looked up and smiled into his eyes he found himself unable to think or move.

"Are you well?" she whispered back, her eyes slowly traveling downward and settling upon his lips like a caress. He swallowed and tried to think of a response.

As she waited for his reply she smiled imperceptibly, her lips a dark rose in color, glowing in the dim lighting. He passed his gaze over her person, noting the beautiful pale grey outfit Wenonah must have given her for the occasion and deciding that she had never looked more beautiful. His eyes touched hers before lifting to her hair, where it had been braided and coiled atop her head. Tiny white beads were woven into its plaits, but she ducked her head suddenly and touched his hands with hers. Then he realized that he was still holding the bowl of food in mid air.

"Aren't you going to eat?" she teased softly, holding his gaze as he lifted it to his lips. It smelled wonderful, and he realized suddenly that he was ravenous. Lunch had not been served due to the intensity of their discussions, and he had been unable to eat much at the early breakfast. Tipping it up, he slid the stew into his mouth and savored the delicious taste as she slowly sat back upon legs bent beneath her. She seemed surprised when he handed the bowl to her.

"Did you make this?" he asked softly, feeling her take it from his hand.

"No," she smiled, "I did the squash." He watched while she shared the portion, placing her lips at the same place his had touched. When she lowered the bowl he couldn't keep his eyes from the fine sheen of liquid upon her upper lip. The inviting softness of her lips captured his attention until he felt the weight of someone else's regard. Glancing up, he met the chief's approving nod and was shocked by his smile.

He was dressed as the Oneida, Ceara realized with pleasure, careful to study him without anyone else noticing. At that moment his eyes returned to hers, dark and shadowed in the firelight and for the first time she looked past the beauty of his eyes and his masculine appeal to note the fact that he had not slept much since their arrival. His eyes locked with hers as he pursed his lips in apparent frustration, staring at her as if he wished to say much more than the single syllable words he had spoken. It was encouraging that he seemed hungry for the sight of her, and she herself was eager to examine him closely to assure herself that he was in good health despite his obvious exhaustion. After a moment he seemed to awaken from his trancelike stare and reached for the platter of food she had prepared for him. Taking advantage of the interruption she studied the trim fit of the dark brown tunic he wore, noting the way it strained against the move of his shoulder and muscles of the upper arm nearest her. While he leaned back and cradled the plate on his lap she lowered her gaze along the muscular thigh angled toward her side from his cross-legged position.

Seated this close to him made her feel small and childlike, dwarfed by his size and masculinity. Aware of the plate being offered her, she met his waiting gaze, falling captive to its silvery intensity. The sudden and unexplained desire in his eyes caught her off guard in such a public setting, sending something sinking into her like a rock falling into deep waters. His eyes fired at that moment, as if he were somehow aware of it though she told herself it could not be. His knuckles brushed her hand and she clasped her edge of the plate, watching his eyes flit over her features and feeling their touch, tangible as a caress. She was aware of a tiny gasp escaping her throat as she watched his eyes drop to the place from whence it had issued. Then he seemed to catch himself and glanced away toward the chief.

She heard the older man speak in his beautifully soft voice, surprised by Aaron's curt reply in more words than she had heard in an entire week. It was unfortunately that she understood nothing of the exchange, left to study the movement of his lips in rapt fascination. The chief answered and they shared a few sentences while the low timber of Aaron's voice touched a chord deep within her. Upon his lips the Oneida language sounded like a caress, and when Wenonah laughed Ceara looked up at him, then to Wenonah and finally to the chief. The older couple was also sharing their plate, leaning into each other with practiced intimacy. A bit embarrassed, Ceara looked away, painfully aware of the distance between her and Aaron and for the first time seeing it in a new light. She heard Aaron say something quietly as if for her hearing alone, but in the Oneida language. Gazing into his eyes she waited for him to translate for her benefit, noting the glint of admiration in their depths, as well as the mild challenge.

_He could not possibly expect me to understand what he just said,_ she objected, still held in the prison of his gaze. To her further frustration the corner of his mouth lifted just before she decided she'd had enough and turned her attention to the chief.

"You have been very kind and gracious, sir," she said to the chief softly, taking the hand he extended to her and shaking it as firmly as she could. "Thank you for inviting me to dinner."

Wenonah translated and he bowed his head slightly and released her hand. Wenonah snuggled against his side and popped a piece of venison into her mouth, her eyes shooting to Aaron and then to the young brave who came up to her and motioned for her to make a place for him to sit. Ceara watched her shift to make room, and Aaron shifted as well. What neither of them anticipated was in moving his knee was brought into contact with her thigh, pressing intimately close as they shifted into their new positions. Feeling the heat of a blush she gasped when Aaron's hand slid around her waist and remained as if it was the most natural thing in the world to do.

Afraid to meet his gaze she smiled and laid a hand upon his thigh, grateful for the dim lighting to hide her embarrassment. Aaron lifted the bowl toward her and she took it with one hand, daring herself to keep the other halfway between his knee and hip. They ate and conversed around her, the foreign words leaping back and forth between bites and swallows. Ceara watched and listened, nibbling at the rich meat which she noted Aaron did not touch. Instead he ate nearly the entire bowl of her squash and filled up on beans. She was keenly aware of his gaze settling upon her, as she was of the hand that shifted casually between her waist and shoulder as the meal progressed. As the other women came to collect their plates he planted that hand somewhere behind and leaned closer while speaking to the chief and Wenonah. She was left to wonder about the direction of their discussions, finally deciding it was rude to exclude her. Clearly their subject was a complicated one, entered into with frank enthusiasm and causing her to doubt her ability to tear him away as directed.

As the talk rose to a higher level of fervency she was left to study the dark wave of his hair as it bounced over his left temple. It was freshly washed, reminding her of the time when she had done that herself and trimmed it, back in Betsy's kitchen. As she considered this, she realized that although it had happened only a few days ago it somehow seemed like years. The fondly recalled the intimacy of that moment as she admired the thick wavy texture of his hair, longing to comb her fingers through it again.

At one point the young brave got up and left them, and Wenonah eyed her meaningfully, her brows raised expectantly to signal her that it was time. Nodding and transferring her hand to Aaron's arm, she felt him draw her closer as he continued speaking, just to let her know he was aware of her. She sighed and watched him turn his attention past the chief, focusing on the brave seated directly across from them. Following his gaze, she thought the man looked vaguely familiar, and after a moment she knew why. Her heart lurched in recognition and she stared at the same man who had run out of their meeting at the inn. Gripping Aaron's hand, she looked up at him as the two began a conversation.

_What is he doing, talking to that man in such a tone? _she worried, sensing the threat in his words and praying to understand them. The man answered him, glancing to the other brave seated at his side. He must have been there as well, she thought with growing concern, but Aaron addressed them calmly, glancing to the chief as he listened. Wenonah took the opportunity to get up and without further adieu tapped her shoulder for her to get up. Rising slowly and disengaging herself from Aaron's hold, she felt her heart sink when he kept the discussion going. The man nearly shouted back at Aaron, but was thankfully ignored by most of the others present. Pursing her lips in frustration, she laid a hand on Aaron's shoulder and told him she would wait for him outside. He nodded while replying, which amused the chief, she could not help but notice. Bending to snatch up the bowl from Aaron's hand, she followed Wenonah toward the serving table at the back of the room.

"You've got to get him to leave," Wenonah whispered, "before a fight breaks out."

"I tried!" she protested in a whisper, feeling the weight of Aaron's gaze as she leaned close to Wenonah. "He wishes to stay."

Glancing over at him, Wenonah shook her head and smiled. "I disagree," she stated. "His eyes follow your every move. If you leave, he will soon follow."

Ceara glanced back as the chief leaned closer to Aaron and spoke, both their eyes on her. Blushing hotly, she turned toward the door. "I hope you are right."

"She has fire," the chief observed, speaking in his native tongue despite the fact that everyone could understand their conversation. "It is no wonder you chose her as wife."

Aaron nodded despite feeling that his choice of wife was no one's business but his own. Worse, it was considered a weakness for a man to be led by his wife, despite the chief's subtle approval of Ceara. But he found himself unable to look away for long, despite the obvious fact that she and Wenonah seemed to be up to something. Still, watching Ceara march toward the door along with a few of the other women, he regretted being in the position where he could not follow until settling this matter with the scouts.

As he answered the next taunt by the man who had once seen him in the Boston headquarters, he was aware of Wenonah coming back to sit at his side and staring at him pointedly. He shot back a retort to confirm his allegiance to the Six Nations while the chief leaned toward him.

"Looks good, dressed as a squaw," he stated in English, nodding in approval to Wenonah. According to Harrison they were married 40 years and considered experts on the subject of male and female relations. The reverend, he noted with a frown of disapproval, remained sequestered in a corner of the room sharing stories with the Tuscaroran chief. _No help there, _he thought cynically, beginning to recognize a plot apparently long in the making.

"Better than as a man," Wenonah chuckled, nudging Aaron when he failed to comment. "Have you no praise for your new wife?" she challenged him.

The scout waved a hand of disgust in his direction and turned back to his companion, leaning close and casting disparaging looks in his direction.

"She disguised herself in order to aid in my escape from her village," he found himself defending Ceara, suddenly weary of the intricacies of social intercourse, at least on the political level. In that moment he wondered if the brave he had commissioned to guard Ceara had remained on assignment and was following her safely back to her quarters.

The chief murmured his approval of Ceara's bravery as Wenonah leaned closer. "Her people must have frowned upon such behavior, even if for your benefit," she stated, letting him see her own admiration for what Ceara had done.

"She was just as determined to travel to her elder brother at Fort Schuyler," he added. "Were it not for my escort, she would have journeyed alone to see him and be assured of his well being."

"The family is strongly knit," the chief commented approvingly.

"Yes, very much so, with the exception of her sister's husband, who attempted to force her to marry against her will."

The chief frowned. "You were forced into this marriage?"

"To some extent," Aaron admitted, "though it was not entirely forced for either of us."

"Then you were considering it before that time," the chief wanted to know. Wondering why he seemed so interested, Aaron shrugged. "A strong friendship had already grown between us."

"Given time," Wenonah spoke up, "might you have chosen to marry of your own free will?"

Aaron had to laugh. "No, I doubt my wife would have married anyone at that time—"

"Such willfulness is a bad quality in a wife," a voice interrupted, drawing their attention to the scout. Aaron had not realized the man spoke English, and found himself momentarily speechless. "It could easily grow into a rebellious spirit," he predicted, throwing Aaron a hostile look.

"Such a wife might prove dangerous, given your position," his companion agreed, staring pointedly at Aaron, then at the chief. Together they had placed themselves in strong opposition to Aaron's involvement in their negotiations, and were it not for his friendship with this chief and the other leaders he doubted his presence would have even been allowed. Despite all his hard work on their behalf. Despite the prickling sensation running down his spine he nodded toward the place from which Ceara had disappeared.

"It is her compassion and courage which drive her, and in which I trust," he emphasized. "And she knows little of my work among this confederacy."

Somewhat chastened, the men studied him a moment, finally nodding as if in acceptance of his defense. "Keep it that way," the other ordered gruffly, turning away to his dessert.

"Such a woman will bear you fine children," the chief stated, looking to his wife for her opinion.

She nodded in agreement. "May the Great Spirit birth and thus renew your lives together."

Astonished that they would direct what appeared to be their blessing toward him, Aaron nodded and began to rise to his feet. Clearly it was time for him to leave, for he sensed his presence was alienating the chief from the other leaders. Halfway to his feet he was stopped by Wenonah's hand upon his arm.

"I trust this man completely," the chief suddenly announced in a loud voice, bringing all the varied conversations to a surprised halt. Slowly settling back down, Aaron watched the chief take up the pipe resting before him on the stones and extend it to him, his face set. "We will affirm our covenant once again, and enjoy continued peace between our people and yours."

Trying to hide his shock Aaron took the pipe and placed it to his lips, his eyes on the chief only. Drawing the smoke in, he held it a moment and passed it back. From the chief's lips it was passed along, and even the two scouts begrudgingly took a puff each. Having exhaled it as quickly and unobtrusively as he could, Aaron swallowed convulsively to keep from coughing. His eyes burned and his head began to throb but he nodded to Harrison's smile of approval as he too partook of the peace pipe. A great weight seemed to press upon his chest while the pipe completed the circle of leaders and was returned. This was followed by a din of conversation and celebratory remarks, during which Wenonah leaned close and spoke into his ear.

"You cannot fool me," she said upon a laugh. "We know how you dislike smoking, so the effort is met with even greater appreciation."

"It is a small sacrifice," he choked, raising a hand to muffle his cough.

"You have lingered long enough," she stated, "now go to her: no one will disturb you this night, or the next."

He drew back in surprise, thankful that the conversation had risen to new heights to cover her instructions. "I was under the impression—"

"Until our next meeting," the chief stated, leaning past his wife to shake his hand. "My scouts have been ordered to see you safely to Fort Schuyler. You will leave by nightfall on the morrow, with our blessing."

Momentarily stunned, Aaron realized he was being dismissed not only from the meeting, but from the village as well. Thanking them for their hospitality, he got up slowly and nodded his goodbyes, lifting a hand to Harrison as well.

"Hurry, before she finds her horse and leaves without you," Wenonah chuckled, shaking her head.

Suddenly worried that Ceara might do exactly that, he took his leave, unaware of the eyes upon him with both good and bad intent. Leaving the warm cocoon of the building, he strode across the meeting area toward the distant house where he knew she was housed, praying that she would still be there by the time he reached it.  
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_c. 2008 by Christine Levitt_


	16. Chapter 16 Keeping Watch

_**Chapter 16 Keeping Watch**_

_  
_Stepping up onto the platform without a sound, Aaron approached the brave standing watch at the entrance. Their eyes met and he nodded in greeting, taking his stance at the man's side and scanning the perimeter of the village despite the cover of darkness. The moon was waning and a storm approached from the west: he could feel the dampness in his bones and its stillness pressed upon his lungs. Across the distance the sounds of revelry drifted toward them from the council longhouse, muffled by the solid walls of each longhouse standing between them. Feeling the man's eyes upon him he turned his head just in time to catch the ghost of a smile on the man's lips, despite his solid stance with arms crossed over his chest.

_What was so amusing?_ he objected silently, crossing his own arms. The man must have witnessed the interaction between them, and he could almost picture Ceara stalking here in her anger with him, for all to witness. He waited for the man to admit his own feelings, but was disappointed. They stood there in the damp stillness for an extended moment until he could stand no more.

"Everything as it should be?" he whispered in the native tongue, watching him nod in silence as he kept his gaze averted.

"No threats of late?" Aaron added hopefully.

"None since your arrival," the brave finally answered, with no further words ensuing. No comment about her return or settling in for the night. Suddenly he wondered if indeed she had taken Pierce and ridden off, to the amusement of this guard.

Lifting a hand to the back of his neck he came to the end of his patience. "My wife inside?"

After a moment he sifted but did not face him, eyes shifting and studying their surroundings. When he finally answered he stopped Aaron from bolting in just to check.

"She is angry," he stated calmly, finally turning to look at him. "Wanted to know where her stallion was kept," he drawled, looking back toward the council house. "I was about to take her to him but she suddenly changed her mind."

Aaron dropped his hand to his side with a frustrated sigh. "I tried to leave sooner—"

"Go to her," was the brave's unsolicited advice as he nodded toward the entrance. "The back is also being watched."

Aaron nodded as he turned to go. "Thank you, Joseph," he said, "I appreciate your concern."

"You will not be disturbed," was his final reply.

Crossing the platform to enter the warmth of the longhouse, Aaron passed through the great room barely noticing the fire burning brightly as he headed down the corridor he knew led to the storeroom. Still feeling a bit dizzy from the smoke of the pipe and his exhaustion he paused before the closed door and listened for any sounds coming from within.

_How will she greet me?_ he suddenly wondered, regretting the past few days spent apart from her. Judging by the reports he'd been given she had been beside herself with worry at first, then angry at not being allowed to see him, and finally reluctantly resigned to his absence and her lonely fate. Still, there was that look in her eyes at dinner, the hunger barely masked by her stern sense of propriety. But he reminded himself of her irritated departure, her mood testy and obvious to all.

Straightening to his full height, he drew in a breath to fortify himself for whatever awaited him, hearing the soft tap of footsteps coming from behind the door. Lifting a hand to knock, he was startled when it opened. Freezing with his hand held aloft, he heard her gasp as her hand spread over her heart. Her eyes widened with recognition while he stood motionless, struck by her beauty and the soft, inky waves of her unbound hair curling around her shoulders. The low glow of the lantern in her room cast dark blue highlights in its sheen and he drank in the sight of her. It framed her face and curled enticingly along the low dip of her neckline, caught captive against the fabric by the press of her hand.

Opening his mouth to speak, he found himself thrown off balance as she lunged toward him, grabbing him by his shirt and dragging him inside. Reaching out a hand to steady himself, he stumbled inside as she kicked the door shut behind her. Before he realized what she was about she slammed into his chest, throwing her arms around him and burying her face against his throat.

"Whoa!" he said softly, winding his arms around her as she hugged him fiercely. Then just as unexpectedly she drew back, disengaging herself and shoving him in the chest before she retreated backward several steps. Stunned, he stared at her glare in astonishment. "Ceara, what is it—"

"Where have you been?" she croaked, planting her hands upon her hips as her eyes flitted up and down his length. "You were supposed to leave with me—"

"I'm sorry," he tried to explain, holding her accusing gaze. "There was a discussion and then the chief—"

"You spoke to those two men!" she choked, shaking her head. "What were you trying to do, get yourself killed? I saw their faces—"

He raised a hand in supplication. "Please, let me explain—"

"Don't you _ever _leave me alone again without telling me," she warned, her eyes moist despite her belligerent stance.

He stared at her, trying to gauge her next outburst. When none issued forth, he shook his head. "It could not be helped," he said gently, wanting to take her back in his arms but thinking it best not to. And he had to admit he had a lot of explaining to do.

"Can you imagine how terrified I was? How worried for your safety?" she said thickly, running her gaze up and down his person as if looking for signs of abuse. "Not knowing where you were, or what they might be doing to you? Not to mention the fact that I still have no idea where we are!"

He massaged the back of his stiff neck. "I told you there was a village—"

"I never saw it!" she objected, beginning to pace before him. "I know the storm delayed us but surely we could have gone there instead of being captured and dragged off here—"

"_This_ is the village," he interrupted, watching her closely as her pacing slowed and she stopped to gaze up at him.

Her eyes widened even more. "You _planned_ this—bringing me to an _Indian_ village?"

"There was no other way," he admitted, "and when those scouts saw me at the inn, I couldn't lose all the years of hard work invested in—"

"Your work?" she choked, coming up to him. "_We_ had an agreement to make our way to Fort Stanwix—"

"We are—this is the only safe route," he tried to explain. "The entire valley is crawling with Mohawks and Regulars all along the way."

She seemed momentarily confused. "You could have told me that before."

"I didn't want to frighten you."

She lifted her chin. "Whatever the reason we arrived here, couldn't you have taken just one minute of your precious work time to let me know you were all right, or even help me communicate with these people?"

He frowned. "I thought you once said you could speak French—"

She stared at him in disbelief. "That was years ago, in school—and Oneida French sounds nothing like—"

"Have you been mistreated here?"

She bit her lip and hesitated, finally shaking her head. "No…not after we arrived."

He held her gaze as they stared at each other. It was so quiet in the room that he could hear her breathing. Suddenly he sensed the source of her conflict and understood. It was confirmed in the way she looked up at him and wrapped her arms around herself, her lips trembling. He held her gaze, his heart softening.

"I missed you too," he whispered, watching her eyes drop to his mouth before they flitted back up to his. He fisted his hands, forcing himself to wait for whatever she would say or do.

Slowly her expression relaxed and then she closed the distance between them, putting her arms around him once again. Breathing a silent prayer of thanksgiving, he pulled her close and held her tightly, dropping his lips to the top of her head and kissing her hair. They stood that way for some time before her hold on him relaxed. She pulled back just enough to gaze up at him. Eventually her attention returned to his lips and then he knew he had permission. Lifting a hand to the back of her neck he slowly bent his head to kiss her. She gripped him tighter before rewarding him with a sigh of gratitude. Then she kissed him back, her eyes centered on his mouth with frank fascination.

Snagging an arm behind her back he pulled her up against him as their kisses changed, growing quickly more intent. Her hands shifted higher up his back and she closed her eyes, giving him the opportunity to study the long black eyelashes brushing along her high cheekbones. Desire long dormant and hidden deep inside him burst forth, and he found his need to taste the depths of her kiss more insistent than ever before. Nudging her lips apart he drank kisses from her as she rose on tiptoe, thrusting her hands into his hair. In an attempt to slow his raging desire he broke the kiss, lifting his face heavenward and praying for control.

"I was afraid I'd never see you again," she confessed, sliding her hands down his chest as she nibbled at his chin. "Don't leave me again—"

"I'm here," he whispered, sliding a hand into her hair and tilting her chin to trail soft kisses along the underside of her jaw, loving the way she shivered in response.

"Oh Aaron," she breathed, kissing him languorously as her train of thought drifted away. He pulled broke away again but tucked her head beneath his chin. Her lips kissed his throat as she breathed in as if to capture his very essence. Closing his eyes he prayed for patience as her hand insinuated itself inside his collar. He gripped her tighter in an attempt to steel himself against her tender onslaught.

"What's wrong?" he heard her whisper.

Praying for a way to help her understand, he took her hands and eased her away. "I cannot play this game," he said hoarsely, shaking his head in denial. "I'm too weak, Ceara."

She threaded her fingers through the hair at the back of his neck. "It's not a game," she said softly.

He looked her in the eye. "I think you know what I mean."

"Please Aaron," she whispered, stepping closer and winding her arms around his waist. "I want to be your wife…in every way."

He studied her expression, detecting a glint of vulnerability in her eyes. "You're not ready," he breathed, turning away, "though I long for day when you are."

She caught his hand and tugged, stopping him. "I _am_ ready," she insisted, tugging his hand until he looked back at her. "I don't want to lose you again…not without _knowing_."

When he hesitated, pondering her words, she smiled hopefully. "Ceara, you don't know—"

She stepped closer and slipped her fingers beneath his shirt, touching the tender skin over his stomach as he closed his eyes and gritting his teeth, completely at her mercy. He found he could not move, even though she slid her hands upward.

"I know you want me," he heard her whisper just before touching a soft kiss to his lips. He opened his eyes, his breathing labored as she continued. "And I want you—"

Undone, he lifted a hand to her cheek, tilted his head and settled his mouth over hers, kissing her hungrily. She slid her hands around to the back of his waist, gripping him for support as he pulled her close enough to feel the extent of his desire for her. As he lifted his head and gazed down at her she stiffened.

"Now you know what to expect," he gasped, fighting to draw air into his lungs. She smiled nervously, her eyes filling with moisture.

"I thought I had convinced you," she whispered, and he realized she thought he was rejecting her.

Tugged her back into his arms, he kissed her greedily. "You did," he groaned, losing himself once again in her heady embrace. But she surprised him by pushing him off balance. Staggering backward, he felt the backs of his legs come up against something solid. She shoved him in the chest, effectively knocking him down to sit upon the bed. The impish smile on her face made him laugh.

Reaching for her, he pulled her onto his lap and held her, feeding upon the kisses she so generously offered. She gripped his head and drank eagerly of his kisses, and he broke away to fight for a breath. "I want you so much," he whispered just before gripping her waist and setting her aside.

She stared at him in mute surprise as he ran a hand through his hair and hung his head. She must have shifted then, for before he realized it her legs wound around him, her arms pulling him into an awkward embrace. "Ceara," he groaned.

"How much?" she sighed into his ear, kissing just below it.

"Too much," he admitted, turning and pressing her down into the bed as he leaned over her. Kissing her tenderly, he felt her arms curl possessively around him.

"You have me," she breathed, staring up at him with a glowing smile.

"Oh no," he warned, lifting a scolding finger before her. Shifting to an upright position, he tried composing himself. "You cannot fool me."

She rose up to plow into him, shoving him back down with his head toward the foot of the bed. It was, he noted, surprisingly comfortable, tempting his stiff and exhausted frame. But she was climbing over him, pinning him down with her hands as she spread teasing kisses over his face.

"Enough," he protested hoarsely, laughing despite himself at her insistence. He caught her hands as she pressed along his length, shoving his head back into the furs in frustration. Curling a hand over the top of his head she moved it back into position for her next more experimental kiss.

Panting as if he had just run cross county, he closed his eyes and gave up. Letting his limbs fall lax, he surrendered to defeat. "I give up," he breathed, waiting for her to answer. When she did not he opened his eyes and stared up into the pleased smile spreading across her lovely face.

"Finally," she panted, dipping her head to kiss him saucily. "What happens next?" she whispered eagerly.

He groaned in capitulation. "Your wish is my command."

She smiled happily. "Take off your shirt," she ordered, inserting a hand beneath its hem.

Grasping her hand he held it aloft. "Have I no say in the matter?"

"You did surrender, Lieutenant," she said with a sweet smile, inching her fingertips up toward his ribs. "I find it a necessity to finally satisfy my curiosity, after all this time."

He smiled in puzzled confusion. "All what time?"

"Since the cave," she stated, sliding her hand up over his pectoral muscles and making him shake with pleasure. "When you saw me changing my shirt."

"I'm sorry—" he frowned, "I didn't mean—"

"Don't be," she ordered, pressing a finger over his lips. "I liked the way it made me feel…seeing your reaction."

He sobered instantly, gently tugging her hand from beneath his shirt and resting it upon his chest. "I've gone years without loving," he told her gently. "I don't want you to be afraid—"

"I'm not afraid."

"—or to regret anything that transpires between us."

"I won't," she breathed, pulling her hands from his and placing her palms over his chest. "I trust you with my life."

Searching for an appropriate objection from the stores of his passion dazed mind, he felt her shove up his shirt, tugging at it until he lifted his shoulders and with her aid pulled it off. She sighed with satisfaction and lowered her face to his chest, planting soft kisses over his skin. Despite his better intentions he gave in to his urge to see her in the heights of passion, finally heeling and toeing off his boots as he slid his fingertips beneath the shoulder of her tunic.

"Now yours," he demanded softly, smiling at her surprised expression.

Slowly turning away, she slid an arm from the sleeve of her tunic as he watched, glancing over her shoulder at him. He stretched back, folding his arms beneath his head as he realized he had never seen a more provocative gesture. When she seemed to realize his thoughts she smiled a bit more confidently and pulled her other arm out. He admired the way the light spread like liquid gold across the smoothness of her skin. She pulled her hair forward, covering herself with it and removing the tunic.

He reached out a hand to touch her back, waiting until she turned and shifted toward him. Opening his arms, he drew her down onto his chest, gasping at the heady feel of her bare skin against his. He gazed down at the press of her breasts against his, feeling her hands slide beneath his head as she kissed him. Her soft moan of pleasure fired his desire and he pulled her atop him, kissing her with slow deliberation until he could stand no more. Guiding her head to his shoulder he stilled her, concentrating on the slow comb of his fingers through her hair.

"You feel wonderful," she sighed, spreading a palm over his chest. He closed his eyes as her fingertips explored his scars, beginning with the largest that angled from his shoulder toward his heart. They moved on, gently tracing the long line of a knife scar over his biceps, the rough ridge along his forearm where a bullet had grazed deep, finally ending up at the more recent one which had brought them together.

"I want to make you forget," she whispered, kissing his lips as she slid her hand to his navel, opening his eyes.

"You have," he breathed, snatching up her hand and wrapping his arms around her. She laid her head upon his shoulder and did not press him further. After a moment he confessed his own desire. "I would erase the pain other men have caused you, if I could."

"You already have," she said, lifting her head to look at him, "but I want more Aaron."

Studying her expression carefully, he cast aside the uncertainties of their relationship and a doubtful future, choosing his next move with great care. Slowly shifting her to her back, he waited until her arms came up around him before gently lifting her hair to uncover her left breast. She closed her eyes as he gazed down at her nakedness, tracing a featherlike caress around its fullness as she squeezed her eyes more tightly shut.

"Look at me," he commanded softly, and when she did he bent to kiss her lips. "You're beautiful, Ceara," he whispered, kissing her again. Slowly reaching up to guide her arm over her head, he held her gaze. "Let me give you pleasure," he breathed, bending his head to kiss her throat as she gripped him tighter with her other arm.

He tread gently over the field of her modesty, using the gentlest of touches as he watched her carefully, smiling as her nervousness and fear fled away to leave only her passion to guide her. It took all his control and strength to hold himself back, but he was more sure of his decision than he had been about anything in a very long time.

She sighed with pleasure, running her fingers over his arm and shoulder, then gripping and pulling at him until they struggled in a wrestling match, surprised him with her strength. When she shoved him to his own back he let her do so, groaning when she climbed over him, pressing against him with exquisite torture.

"I need you, Aaron," she panted, kissing him deeply, "without you it is a selfish—"

"Not yet," he breathed, not realizing how his arm ground her hips into his until she suddenly groaned with passion, feasting on his lips until she fell limply over his chest. His body screamed in protest but he threaded a hand into her hair, chuckling with surprise and admiration. "Finally," he breathed, ignoring the punch of protest her fist delivered to his chest.

"Noo," she gasped, wriggling against him and forcing him to steel himself with resolve. Her hands slipped beneath his neck as she kissed the sensitive spot below his ear. "I wanted you too—"

"It's all right," he soothed, reaching for the blankets to shield them from the cold air.

"It's not," she argued tiredly, kissing his throat as she slid to her side. "I feel even emptier than before," she breathed, draping an arm over his hip.

"Next time," he promised, ignoring his own dull ache of unfulfilled desire. Closing his eyes he set his course toward sleep, knowing from experience that there he would find an escape from the fires of his own passion. A wave of exhaustion crashed over him as he wondered how he'd managed to keep from consummating their marriage, especially in light of her frank protests.

"We're upside down in bed," he heard her laugh sleepily as she snuggled her head against his shoulder.

That was the last thing he remembered before sleep finally claimed him.

_**Ceara smiled lazily, **_sliding her legs along her husband's and nuzzling her head back against his. The dream was beginning to fade, its delicious and provocative world unlike any other she had experienced. In it she and Aaron lay upon a sandy shore in each other's arms, the sun's heat baking their skin as gentle waves nudged against their bodies. She could still see his face as he smiled down at her, his teeth an incredible white against his darkly tanned skin. He bent his head to touch his lips to hers while his lower body nudged suggestively against hers. She smoothed her hands up his back, smiling contentedly and feeling that everything was right with the world—

Awaking with a start, she opened her eyes, tightening her fingers upon his arm. The slow rhythm of his breathing told her that he was sound asleep, and glancing over her shoulder at his face confirmed it. Her eyes lingered over his features, and she decided that he looked younger in sleep. Lying back down, she trailed her fingertips over the soft dark hair of his forearm, which lay draped over her hip. The cold air pinched her nose, reminding her that it was winter and they were in her room at the longhouse. Apparently they'd been given complete privacy, no doubt at Wenonah's command. She could hear the sound of distant activity beyond the heavily insulated bark walls, vaguely wondering how much of the day they had slept through.

Returning her attention to his face, she pressed her head back into the blankets to study the tiny black spikes of his whiskers dotting his cheeks, even outlining the masculine beauty of his lips. The memory of his kisses and the press of his mouth over hers made her skin tingle and her heart thud with excitement. His dark hair was tousled, waving over his temples and tempting her to run her hands through it yet again. It did not escape her noticed how long his eyelashes were, but she longed to gaze into his magnificent eyes instead. He needed his rest, however, and she was determined to see that he got it. Curling up against him once again, she rejoiced at the knowledge that at least for the day he was hers alone. No meetings or dangers to interfere with their time together. As she listened to the muffled sounds of children playing off somewhere in the distance, she thought of the closeness of the Oneida families, remembering how even Wenonah and the chief had seemed to share a deep intimacy she could only dream about. Imaging growing old with someone, she thought hopefully, remembering Aaron's touch, the light in his eyes and his whispered confession:

_I've gone years without loving…_

After a moment of concentrating on his meaning, she felt troubled for th first time. Then she realized the obvious, her body testifying to it as well: Aaron was an experienced lover—unlike her. His kisses and expert touch suddenly caused a stab of jealousy to pierce her heart. She had to admit that he had seemed to know how to bring her to the heights of passion and lead her all the way to final ectasy. As she pondered the mystery of such a gift she wondered exactly how experienced he was, and even more importantly, how and with whom had he gained that experience. How many times did it take, she wondered, and how many different ways?

As she considered this she began to feel more and more insecure, unable to help wondering how she compared to the other women he had been with. It occurred to her that perhaps she fell far below his expectations, and maybe that was why he had withheld himself from her. As her mind grew increasingly more troubled, again she heard his whispers echo through her memory:

… _years without loving…I don't want you to be afraid… years without loving…_

Choosing to focus upon his confession that it had been a long time since he had been with anyone, she felt a calm assurance rise within her. She told herself that no matter what secrets his past held he had married _her. _When he shifted suddenly she realized that she was clutching his arm too tightly. Loosening her grip, she waited until he settled back to sleep, not wishing to disturb him, especially not now when she was experiencing real doubt about his true feelings for her.

_Why do you think he married you?_

She bit her lip and considered the question in light of the past night spent in his arms. Surely he did not marry her just to rescue her from Caleb's overbearing influence. It was at least in part for his own protection, she reminded herself. Marrying her gave him an alibi for being in her area of the commonwealth, and it had been she who had thought of it herself. As fear stirred within her again she wondered if that wasn't the real reason he withheld himself, so that he would later be free to annul their marriage of convenience.

Even more puzzling was the imbalance of his rigid self control and deep commitment to his work measured against the impulsive nature of their marriage. His behavior made no sense, she realized. Her mind raced with doubts and questions, accusing first her, then him…

_What do you really know about him? You don't even know from whence he hails! Does he still have family there, and if so why has he not mentioned introducing you, his wife, to them? Maybe he has another wife somewhere else, and maybe even children—_

_No! _her mind screamed, making her want to cover her ears just to stop the progression of her fear. She tried to calm her pounding heart and concentrated on what she _did_ know about him. Going back in time to their very first encounter, she began to see things more clearly in her mind. She remembered how pale and weak he had been, falling painfully to the frozen ground. Yet when he had come back to his senses his only concern was passing on his warning for the militia to be protected.

_Leave me,_ he'd croaked, resisting her efforts to get him to sit up. And again, later in the tunnel when panic had overtaken him he had urged her to do the same: _Leave me.._.

She remembered the night they'd been forced to marry under Caleb's mocking taunts, as well as their argument just afterward. To her shame she realized it had been her idea to offer an annulment, no Aaron's:

_We can file or an annulment, _she had told him, _not being truly bound to each other._

To which he had replied, after pulling her close: _"Aren't we?"_

Considerably less agitated, Ceara continued to review the past with keener scrutiny. Captain Burke's comments drifted to the surface of her memory, from the time they stood in the field just after their forced ceremony:

_I hope you know how eligible a bachelor you've just claimed, Miss Connolly… you might have just given him the one thing he so desperately needs… about time he started his own family…_

Wishing she had asked more questions of him, she realized that her more recent encounter with Reverend Mitchell had proven nearly as mysterious. The Reverend, however, had excused his refusal to share the personal side of Aaron's life with her by insisting that if there was anything she wished to know about Aaron she should ask him herself.

Feeling unusually restless, she gently lifting his arm off her waist and set it at his side, switching to her back but keeping her head turned to watch him sleep. Though for many nights she had sat up with him, nursing his wounds and fevers, watching him just as carefully, this was different. Allowing herself the leisure of studying him from quite a different perspective, she let her gaze wander over his body in newfound appreciation. Whereas she had previously thought him lean and thin, she noted the thick muscles in his chest and upper arms, smiling at her discovery achieved from getting him to take off his shirt. Blushing with pleasure, she relieved the sensation of feeling cherished and treasured, realizing that he had held off consummating their marriage out of consideration for her feelings, her shyness, fears and inexperience. Lying to rest her previous judgment of him, she took his decision as a sign of his respect and commitment to their marriage, for that was more in character of what kind of man she knew him to be.

It was surprising and exciting to realize that deep within herself she had discovered a certain power which could break that iron control he usually exhibited and release his passion. The knowledge that she could affect him in that way was heady, but she realized the importance of wielding it carefully. She wanted him to be a strong husband, not one who answered his wife's every demand and make him therefore difficult to respect. Already planning their next encounter, she vowed however that she would do her best to see that it ended differently, so while he slept on she studied her subject carefully, making mental notes of what she might do to coax out into the open that passion burning deep inside him. As she did so a quiet peace settled within her, and with a surge of love for him she was filled with thanksgiving for his presence in her life.

_Thank you Lord for this man…_

She remembered telling Cecily that God knew the man for her, and here she lay at his side, having finally found him. Suddenly it didn't matter so much that she knew so little about him. As far as his treatment of her was concerned, she knew what was necessary. She watched him swallow and shift his head away, her eyes drawn to the strong column of his neck. With a strong and sudden urge to lick the skin there, she covered her mouth to stifle a giggle at the scandalous thought, chiding herself for having such an unladylike thought as well as a preoccupation with his masculine attributes. Admittedly, of late her mind had been assaulted by a flood of such impressions, which she dismissed as due to spending so much time with him alone. It was heightened by the threat of danger, binding them closer together than the ordinary confines of society might allow. But whatever the reason, she recognized within herself a rapidly growing attraction to him, sensing he felt the same way.

_We are married, after all, _she reasoned, letting her eyes travel appreciatively over his chest and down to the place where his arm pinned the blankets over his stomach. Slipping lower, she wondered what lie beneath their cover and the soft deerskin leggings he still wore. Snapping her gaze up to his eyes, she was relieved that they were still closed and had not noted the direction of her stare. Breathing more serenely she rested her head back, her heart swelling with affection for him. He had not said the words one would expect, at least not verbally. She smiled at the memory of his eyes as he gazed upon her face, absently reaching for his hand. As if attuned to her slightest touch, his fingers curled gently around hers and fell still. Tears sprang to her eyes and she was again thankful for having him in her life.

_I believe I love him, Lord…and that he loves me._

He shrugged a shoulder against hers and began to turn to his other side. Sliding away to give him room she prayed he would continue to sleep, thinking it had been many days since he had last slept. Turning her head toward him once again, she stared at his back as it came into full view. Biting her lip to keep from crying out she stared in disbelief at the scars crisscrossing his skin, their evil clawlike signatures a silent testimony to the torture he had only briefly mentioned as they rode away from the inn. She studied them with tears in her eyes, knowing by their pale color and raised edges that they were fairly old but the result of torture. She had repaired a few floggings in her career, but never anything as severe as what Aaron must have endured. Even now they marred the beautiful sculpture of his upper back and shoulders. It was inexcusable that she had not noticed them while embracing him, nor throughout the days she and Betsy had nursed him back to health, unless Betsy had refrained from mentioning them. Afraid to breathe, she closed her eyes and for the first time wondered how she might respond should he share with her the obvious horrors of his past. This was something he may never share, she sensed, but if he did it would indicate a degree of trust that would be exceptional. Aaron was not the type of man to speak of his feeling, she already knew.

His arm arced out to pull the blankets higher over his shoulder, and as he became somewhat restless she wondered if he might be seeking her touch. Moving closer to him, she wound her arm around him, pressing her chest to his deeply scarred back. When he settled back into repose she dared to softly kiss the roughened skin over his shoulder blade. He murmured in his sleep and reached for her hand, capturing it against his stomach as her eyes filled with tears again. His fingers slowly stroked hers, their calloused skin pleasantly comforting and warm to the touch. Then they loosened their grip as he slipped into a deeper sleep.

She closed her eyes and nestled against him, a final thank you to God for His provision upon her lips as she joined her husband in warm slumber.

_c. 2008 by Christine Levitt_


	17. Chapter 17 In the Balance

**_Chapter 17 In the Balance_**

_"Take him back to Solitary and leave him there!" his tormenter shouted in disgust. Aaron was jerked to his feet again, and he struggled to see beyond the blood streaming into his eyes. "If he doesn't talk after a week, repeat the flogging!"___

_The guards half dragged him out of the building and across the yard. Struggling to keep his feet moving he realized that doing so was a form of cooperation. Giving in to his exhaustion he folded his feet beneath him and fell painfully to his knees, a satisfied smile cracking his dry lips open. With curses flying around his ears he forced them to drag him all the way back to the hole. They passed barrack after barrack and he glanced up at the sun, half praying for the deliverance of death despite the fact that his prayers had hitherto gone unanswered. Cheers drifted toward him from the men straining at the windows to see who passed, but he found he could no longer stand the pain pulling at the stipes on his back and pushed his feet into alignment. Gaining his footing rewarded him with some easing of their grip on his arms but he fought a wave of nausea and blackness as they entered his building headed toward the dungeon. Though he had never met any of his fellow prisoners of war, their shouts of encouragement lifted his spirits enough to strengthen him until they reached their destination. ___

The iron clanked and groaned as it was slid aside and h_e was shoved roughly to the floor as the gate closed behind him. Landing facedown in the dust, his arms flopped limply to his sides and he was helpless yet again. Stifling a fit of coughing, he gasped for breath despite the knifelike pain in his ribs. The lock turned and their boots trudged off. The cheers died down as he managed to drag his knees up and turn with great effort onto his side. Growling at the fire and pain from his shredded back, he heard the harsh wheeze he later realized was his own voice. _

_Shivering in the cold dampness he tried to focus past the blood and sweat stinging his eyes just to keep from passing out, prayed that the infection sure to come forth from his flogging might be the one to finally lay him to rest. Searching the distant past to mouth the ancient words that might give him strength, he heard the horrible faint scratching and was gripped with wild panic. The sound grew louder as they came closer, and a scream tore up his chest. Their claws wove a crazy path toward him, and when the tiny daggers dug into his leg he lurched up to confront his attackers, somehow turning and balancing on his arms in agony._

"It's only a dream!" the rats screeched, opening their jaws as sharp nails dug into his arms. His mind swam with fear and confusion at the sound, for now his rodent companions sounded human. Afraid he was losing his mind completely, he sniffed at the strange scent of lavender invading his cell, feeling his wrists gripped by what should have been their jaws but felt more like hands. Suddenly he heard them call his name in a female voice, clearing his mind as he woke quickly, panting heavily and staring into the face replacing theirs. Blue eyes widened with fear, and her soft panting beat against his lips. _Ceara?_

"Aaron—it's me!" she gasped, gripping his wrists with an expression that was a mixture of fear and grief. "Wake up—you're having a nightmare."

With pounding heart he glanced down to the place where his hands clamped around her upper arms, realizing that he was positioned over her, pinning her down beneath him. Groaning with remorse he released her and flipped to his back, still fighting off the power of his dream. He heard her shift beside him and raised a hand to his brow in disbelief, remembering what had transpired between them and realizing he'd ruined everything by his inadvertent regression into the past.

"I'm sorry," he said sternly, listening to her panting slow down as he slowly lowered his hand to his bare chest. After a moment he turned his head to look at her.

Her hand was pressed over her heart and as she lay staring at him, her eyes huge in the murky light of the storage room. The blanket had slipped low over her breasts, and he studied her parted lips as she tried to slow her breathing. Feeling like a beast he flung himself onto his back, turning his head away.

"I didn't mean it," he stated, too ashamed to look at her. "I had no idea what I was doing."

He heard the husks crackle as she moved, her hand gripping his arm. "I know," she answered, her voice shaky. "It's all right—"

"No, it's not," he choked, still seeing the terror in her expression and praying silently for a way to prevent this from happening again. He closed his eyes, ruing the day of his capture, and not just for his own sake. He felt her fingertips fan across his skin and pursed his lips.

"I'm fine," she said gently, the tenderness in her voice choking him with emotions he hadn't felt in a very long time.

They lay in silence listening to the distant sounds of the village and becoming aware of the wonderful combined scent of baking bread and stew being prepared. When he dared to open his eyes he stared overhead at the boughs of drying herbs and vines, braided cornhusks and twigs for basket making that were fixed to the ceiling. Now when they finally had time to themselves this was how it began, he thought cynically. Worse, it was certainly no way to begin a marriage.

"Aaron, why didn't you tell me?" she asked timidly, her fingers threading through his. He felt her rise above him and the weight of her gaze, but found himself too shaken to look at her. _How could this have happened again, after all this time? Why with Ceara, when he couldn't remember a nightmare occurring for months._

"I didn't mean to frighten you," he apologized, finally meeting her gaze.

She swallowed with some difficulty. "But you didn't _know_ it was me," she stated, the hurt in her eyes crushing him.

There were no words to excuse his behavior, so he had to be honest with her. "No, not at first," he admitted, stiffening when she pulled her hand from his. For a moment she looked down at him and he felt a knifelike pain stab his heart. _Now I'm going to lose her forever…._

Studying his face, she finally moved but it was not to run away. Touching a hand to his chest, she settled onto her side and lowered her chin to rest upon it, obviously waiting for an explanation.

He heaved a sigh of relief and regret, closing his eyes. "Don't make me delve into an ugly past, Ceara," he breathed, feeling more exhausted than when he had first lay down. His head ached and he longed for something to wet his parched throat.

He felt her hand move to touch his healing side before she shifted, stretching over him and gently kissing his lips. He squeezed his eyes tighter, too aware of every tantalizing inch of her skin against his chest. Fighting his mounting desire for her, he fisted his hands in the blankets as if to resist her.

"It's _not_ in the past," she whispered, her fingers sliding over his lips. He felt her legs shift against his and raised a hand to her hip, cradling it despite his better intentions.

Swallowing hard, he opened his eyes to find hers focused upon his face, reading compassion in her expression with what might be interpreted as the telltale signs of pity he hated so. Pity was not something he tolerated well, and he wasn't about to accept it in her. "It was only a nightmare," he said bitterly, glancing away. After a moment he felt the tip of her finger slowly tracing his lower lip.

"I have them too," she breathed, her gaze expectant when he looked back up.

Reaching for her hand he kissed her fingertips. "I'm sorry to hear that."

She smiled hesitantly. "Maybe if we share them, together we can banish them."

A warning deep inside him sounded concerning how quickly and easily she had insinuated herself there, but he ignored it. "Would that it was that easy," he breathed, sliding his hand beneath her hair and kissing her cheek. "You can share yours, however."

She flit her fingertips along his throat. "Not if you won't share yours."

"Is that a challenge, milady?" he whispered, trapping her fingers in his. Then he pulled her up over his chest and kissed her, finding her eagerness thrilling. They kissed until they were both breathless and she pressed her face against his shoulder.

"I'm not much of a lady, Aar—"

"How did I ever find a treasure like you?" they whispered at the same time. He smiled when she looked up, obviously blushing.

"Lady or no lady, you won't get rid of me very easily," she teased.

"Good," he laughed, repositioning his head against the padding at the foot of the bed. Twisting his head around, he remembered that they were lying upside down there. Quirking a brow, he craned his neck back just as she ran her hand down his arm. "Would you like to turn in the right direction?"

She glanced over one shoulder to look at the head, reaching for another pillow. "Don't move," she ordered, stuffing it beneath his head as he pulled her atop him again. "There—better?"

He settled her upon his chest and closed his eyes, curling his arm up and around her again. They held each other and settled into comfortable silence, and he wondered if she was dozing off. They were still a bit unsure of how to behave with each other. He wanted to make love to her, but felt insecure after what he had done while caught in the nightmare. Deciding against it at least for the present moment, he pondered getting something to eat, perhaps going outside for a walk, and then later…

"Was it Bloody Ben?" he heard her ask gently as she brushed her fingers over hair sprinkled over his chest. He stiffened and slowly opened his eyes.

"You know the name?"

She nodded. "Word of his brutality traveled far—even to our little valley."

"I see…"

She leaned up to kiss his chin. "And you did mention him before."

He gently slid his hand down her back. "Did I?" he sighed, wanting to discuss anything but his tormentor.

"I remember everything about you," she said softly.

He saw something change in her expression, surprised by what he thought he read there. Holding her gaze a moment, he realized that it was hunger, and raising a hand to the back of her neck he tilted her head and fastened his lips over hers. She moaned in acceptance as he kissed her with slow deliberation, coaxed on by the tentative and shy exploration of her touch. He could feel himself grow more and more intoxicated by her response, and when she slid her hands over his shoulders and pressed closer it was an unmistakable invitation. He vaguely recalled a decision to withhold real intimacy until she knew the truth about him, but they had quickly crossed the boundary of abstinence.

Somehow summoning the strength and will, he broke the kiss and shifted until he had her tucked against his side, her head beneath his chin. She seemed a bit puzzled that he did so, but said nothing, just continued to trace her fingertips over and down his chest, driving him mad with desire. He gritted his teeth at the same time she bent her head and licked his throat. He groaned in protest, guiding her head away as she gripped his arm and fought. Arm wrestling turned them in opposite positions until he laughed and flipped her back again.

"Just because you are stronger than I am," she protested, "does not give you the right to control me!"

He bent his head and kissed her neck with wolfish glee, unable to resist teasing her. When she grumbled and punched his shoulder he shifted his hands to her face, cradling it while he nibbled kisses beneath her ear. She squirmed and protested, laughing at what was apparently a ticklish spot. Finally giving up, he flopped onto his back and stared at her, his laughter dying beneath the fiery glare in her eyes.

"You were going to tell me something important," she prompted, staring into his eyes.

"I couldn't with you tempting me so mercilessly," he breathed.

"I could not help myself," she confessed, winding her arms around his waist and pressing closer. He squeezed his eyes shut at the exquisite torture of her bare skin against his. But she settled down, her chin on his chest and eyes wide as if expecting a lecture. "I'm ready and listening now that it's clear you are going to make us both wait."

He glanced down at her, pursing his lips. "I don't enjoy it either love, but there are things you need to know before we—"

"I love you," she breathed, interrupting him with that quiet confession. Stunned, he searched her eyes as she added, "no matter what you have to say to me."

_You're too late,_ a voice warned him, y_ou should have told her long ago— now you cannot help but break her heart. _

_Torn, he tried to think of how he could tell her now, after such a confession._

She reached up to caress his cheek. "You don't have to say it," she breathed, "I can see it in your eyes."

He found is voice. "See what?" he said thickly.

"There's no use denying that you love me too."

He narrowed his gaze, looking deeply into her eyes as he threaded his fingers into her hair. "I'm not denying it," he whispered, holding her gaze.

Her expression was transformed, and she smiled impishly, kissing him hard on the lips. "I knew it!" she squeaked, shaking him by the shoulders. "I knew I could tell what you were thinking!"

"Of course you did," he admitted, wrapping his arms around her after drawing the blankets higher. When she pressed her face to his neck he sighed in resignation. "I should have told you before," he thought aloud, "and you still haven't heard the rest."

"It won't change how I feel about you," she repeated.

He looked down at her with a cynical smile. "Are you sure?"

She nodded, tilting her head back to await his news.

Praying that she would not be frightened off by his admission, he started at the best place he could think of. "The name I signed on our marriage license—it's not my real name."

Her brows shot up and she looked thoughtful. "Don't tell me it's Horatio or Melvin," she gasped.

"This is important, Ceara," he said soberly, reaching for her hand.

"I'm sorry," she grimaced, pretending to look concerned. "Does this mean we are not legally married--is that why you are making us wait—"

"No, love—but I did have my birth name changed, though some time ago."

She looked puzzled. "But why, and from what?"

He hesitated, studying her expression. "From Greenberg to Green," he said quietly, watching her carefully. When she appeared not to understand, he continued. "I'm Jewish, Ceara. Green is my intelligence name."

"Is that all you wanted me to know?"

Momentarily stunned by her lack of protest, he nodded. "In part yes, but—"

"I imagined something truly horrible, Aaron; I was so worried."

"I'm relieved you aren't horrified," he stated blandly, remembering all the persecution he'd suffered for his faith. Her casual acceptance both pleased and puzzled him.

She ran her fingers into his hair, combing it off the side of his temple. "I thought you were going to tell me you were _really_ an officer in the King's service," she smiled with obvious relief.

He stared up at her smile. "But I am," he said softly, watching her smile fade. "Does that cause you more regret?"

She nodded. "I'm afraid so…then you really did desert, in a way."

"Not exactly," he answered, still stunned by her acceptance of his identity. "Have you no objection to marrying a Jew?"

Ceara's eyes widened. "Why would I?"

He let out a frustrated sigh. "It can bring persecution into your life; trust me, I know."

"Aaron, I love _you_, but if I must suffer for doing so then so be it," she breathed, gently shaking her head. "Now I understand why Reverend Mitchell answered so few of my questions..."

"Harrison?" he asked, curling a hand around the back of her head to pull her forward for a kiss. "What questions?"

"I was desperate to find out all I could about my mysterious husband."

"I see…religion would have surely entered the list of topics, at least for his part."

"He did say his efforts among the Oneida were much easier than with you," she smiled.

"Ha!" he laughed, resting his head back upon his arm. "He's been trying to make me a good Christian for years."

"But the Oneida are Christian in belief, not lifestyle," she said thoughtfully. "I would hate to see them all dress and behave at meeting the way some of my neighbors did."

"Excellent observation," he said, gazing at her with frank admiration. "Perhaps you could argue on my behalf, then."

"Not until you've taken me to synagogue and shown me what being Jewish is," she insisted. "But I do want to return to your mention of truly being a British officer."

"I am doubly assigned," he told her. "Commissioned in both armies, at the same time no less."

A look of wonder spread across her face. "I thought it was only a role you played, being an officer of the King."

"It was the only commission I served, at the beginning."

She looked troubled. "Then your family is Loyalist."

He nodded. "Very rigidly so."

"How do they feel about your dual roles, Aaron?"

At his silence she slowly sat up, drawing the blankets with her to cover herself. He tried to keep his eyes on her face, and not on the place where her hand clutched the bedcovers. "They don't now, do they?" she whispered.

He reached up a hand to place upon her leg. "No one must know."

"But how can you prevent others from discovering it? How long have you been involved in intelligence?"

"Not as long as I've been in the King's service."

She nodded slowly. "And how long is that?"

"Since I was ten years of age, serving as a cabin boy at sea."

She took his hand in hers, running her thumb over his knuckles. "A very young age…your parents allowed you to do such a thing?"

"They didn't know about it….at least not at first."

Her eyes widened. "You ran away—but why?"

He sighed and gazed off toward the wall, not wanting to share the past but unable to avoid much of it. She had to know what she was getting herself into, he reasoned. "My father died in the previous war, when I was a lad. It wasn't long before my mother remarried, which I saw as a betrayal of his memory…her second husband proved a cruel and intolerant man, particularly toward me. But running away only served to heighten the problem, as I later discovered. When he finally located me I was snatched from port and sent to London for my education and training, forced to enter service with an officer's appointment. Of course he made sure I was stationed in the colonies, where he could keep a distant eye upon me."

"How horrible for your mother," she breathed, squeezing his hand. When he looked back into her gaze she shook her head again. "They have no idea who you really are, then."

"No, not even my mother does."

"You must suffer a great deal of conflict, whenever you return home."

He reached for a tendril of her hair, absently sliding it through his fingertips. "I've grown accustomed to playing the role…and although I am outwardly obedient, inwardly I remain a rebel in the truest sense of the word."

She stared at him with growing concern. "You are an intelligence officer under General George Washington…and your family has no idea."

"Only a few high ranking officials are privy to that information."

"Like Captain Burke."

"And now you, and John Masters…"

"And Betsy."

_And the children, _he worried.

"Aaron, if they find out what you really do, and that you married a patriot—"

"They cannot know, Ceara," he said soberly. "For all our sakes—when you meet them you will understand."

"Will I?"

"Of course, after I escort you to your brother."

"I still don't know why you would risk taking me to him when you obviously have more important work to do…"

"Because," he said, rising up to kiss her gently, "you were going to go with or without me; now I hope you realize how important you are to me."

"And Captain Burke approves?"

"He cannot say anything against it, love."

"But I thought he was your commanding—"

"I was given a leave, Ceara," he said softly, nuzzling her cheek with his lips, "a disability leave."

She gripped his wrist and forced him to look up at her. "When were you going to tell me?"

He moved quickly, diving under the blankets to come up with his head at the proper end of the bed. There several pillows awaited his aching head. "Another time," he croaked, his body still heavy with exhaustion. "I'm afraid I need more sleep, Mrs. Green," he yawned, holding out a hand for her to join him. She took his hand and eventually settled against his side.

"Greenberg," she corrected softly, wrapping her arm over his waist and settling her cheek upon his shoulder. He stretched out his arm to receive her shoulders and felt her draw the blankets higher. "I think I might enjoy having a choice of names, as well as a bit of a masquerade."

He opened one eye to study her. "I hope that does not mean what I think it does."

She shrugged. "Traveling with you, sir, could very well demand that I do so; why, you think I cannot play the perfect Tory wife?"

"Dear God!" he gasped, burying his head back into the pillows. "I hadn't thought of that."

"I have."

"So you've decided to keep the name, or names?"

She turned her face into his neck and kissed the tender skin there. "I shall keep you sir," she sighed with a yawn following. "Whatever your name happens to be…"

_**James Connolly stiffened against another bout of shivering,**_ keeping his gaze fixed upon the scouting party crossing just below them. The rushing waters of the river obliterated any sound of his men's presence as they shifted positions, rifles following the Indians should he decide to order them to shoot. Yet judging by their dress and markings they might be Oneida and therefore friendly to the patriot cause and valuable allies in this crazy war. Relaxing his hold on the freezing metal of his rifle, he slowly lowered it and nodded eastward, keeping one eye on the swift passage of the braves as they followed the river at a distance.

_Not as careful as I thought_ he decided, watching them hurry silently along through the trees crowding the shore, completely unaware of their presence. His own men filed silently through the forest in the opposite direction, leaving him to bring up the rear of the line. Muster was still a half day's journey beyond this place, and they had to keep moving if they didn't want to miss being handed new orders.

As the last brave rounded the bend in the river he glanced up at the gathering clouds and stretched out of his squat to follow his men. The damp chill warned of another blizzard, further depressing his mood and making him almost long for heading South despite knowing greater confrontations awaited them there. At least the weather would be warmer and they would have something to do beyond holding a fort against attack and rarely leaving its walls for scouting forays. Half of those who went out never came back, either from desertion or being attacked. The Mohawk Valley had suffered constant raids by the Regulars, keeping them sequestered inside with their only distraction being the bickering of his commanding officers. Finally someone had pulled a political string or two and gotten his regiment out, and frankly he cared little for the fate of the fort. He was restless after years of being confined to one place, and longed to see what was left of his family again before following the war South to what he sensed would be its final end. They would have a few days of layover during which he could ride home and still be back in time to join his men.

As he climbed up after them to the top of the ridge he was surprised at how much he missed his sisters. Though they had grown closer after the deaths of their parents and younger brothers, he never would have anticipated his longing for their company and for his old life of farming and hiking the hills around town. He and Ceara had had some great times outdoors, though now he had trouble picturing her face, as well as Cecily's. They would look different by now, of course, for they were grown women. He didn't have to worry much over Cecily, though he didn't like Caleb Godwin one bit. The wealthy Tory who toyed with the patriot cause made him very uneasy, but at least he would keep Cec safe and provided for. Ceara though, with her tomboyish ways and fervent spirit was the one about whom he worried the most. Her letters were far too focused upon politics, and far too passionate for a woman to hold such views. Her intelligence and iron will would no doubt make Caleb's parade of suitors come to a grinding halt. Yet he smiled when he thought of her spunk, especially after the threat she'd suffered. She was older and more attractive than Cecily, whom he loved but felt less akin to. Ceara needed the love and protection of a husband, yet her independence would no doubt prove too threatening to most of the men he knew. The few he did think might suit her hadn't the leave or the resources to provide for a wife, let alone themselves.

Crossing a ford he trudged down the rise toward the plain, bemoaning his own depleted funds, for it had been months since the last time any of them had been paid. The regiments were constantly being divided and shifted around to save resources, and his hopes of rising in rank were currently dim. As he brooded about his own future, he lost his concentration and stumbled, falling against a dead tree trunk. Grasping it for support, he heard a loud crash from above, raising his arm just as a large branch came sailing toward him. Then he was falling to the ground while the world spun and dimmed.

_  
__**Betsy choked back a sob and leaned against the counter,**_ hardly believing her eyes. Clutching he letter she felt her heart pound with fear as tears flooded her vision, making it difficult to re-read its contents. Vaguely aware of Paulie's voice asking her if she was all right, she felt Faith's hand touch her shoulder as the girl leaned into her side.

"What is it?" Faith gasped, her eyes wide when Betsy finally managed to look up. "Bad news?"

Shuddering and beginning to weep, she nodded. "It's Marcus," she croaked, staring back down at the letter from his father. "He's—he was in—an accident," she gulped, covering her face with one hand.

"Oh no!" Faith moaned, hugging her close. "Does this mean he cannot come for you yet?"

Wailing even louder, Betsy knew she was attracting attention in the crowded general store but could not help herself. Faith glanced suspiciously at the latter and reached out a hand toward her brother.

"Do you want to leave?" she whispered, glancing at her brother's stricken face.

She bobbed her head and reached for her handkerchief as Paulie grasped her arm, tugging her toward the door. Half dragging her outside, the children hurried her down the walk despite the passing stares of the neighbors. She couldn't face them now, not when the news had broken her heart.

"What did the letter say?" Paulie whispered, grasping her hand in his much smaller one.

"Was Marcus hurt badly?" Faith dared to ask.

Choking down her nausea, Betsy rushed faster toward the house. "He's dead!" she sobbed under her breath, shaking her head. "Marcus is dead!"

"Oh Miss Betsy," Paulie wined, "nooo!"

Faith gripped her arm and steered her across the street and down the lane, glancing at the letter. "May I?" she choked, reaching for the letter.

Betsy shoved it toward her, putting her arm around Paulie to quiet his sobs. "He was in a logging accident," she said more for his benefit. "They found him downriver—four days later."

"Dear Lord," Faith moaned, looking up from the letter. "His father said they've already sold the land that was to be yours—whatever will you do now?"

"I don't know!" she wailed in grief and panic. "I want to see him, but they already buried him in the thaw! They didn't even wait or ask me about anything!"

She was aware of brother and sister exchanging worried glances, and when they reached the porch Faith helped into the house and toward the stairs. "Let's get you to bed," she soothed. "You've had a terrible shock."

Betsy nodded and paused on the staircase to glance down at Paulie's tear streamed face. "I'll make soup," he said woefully.

She nodded, looking around her house as if it was suddenly unfamiliar. All her thoughts and hopes had rested upon a future with her beloved Marcus, but it was not to be. Despite the fact that this was her parents' home she felt like a stranger, so long had she envisioned herself with him in Maine. The children, never having met him, would not understand, but Ceara and Marcus had been friends.

"I need Ceara!" she croaked, hurrying toward her room to grieve alone.

"Maybe we'll have a letter from her tomorrow!" Paulie called hopefully, "we can check for you!"

"Thank you, dear," she called before opening her door, well aware of the fact that no one had heard nor seen anything concerning Ceara and Lieutenant Aaron since the news of their abrupt and forced departure. This only added to her grief, causing her to lock her door and yield to all her sorrows in the privacy of her room.

_c. 2008 by Christine Levitt_


	18. Chapter 18 Two Hearts As One

**_Chapter 18 Two Hearts As One_**

Opening her eyes to the dimly lit room, Ceara blinked in surprise, wondering how long she had slept. Her limbs felt leaden with exhaustion, yet pleasantly so. And inside she felt more alive than ever, all because of him. Slowly turning her head, she studied him as he slept, amazed that she was here at his side, lying next to him. It was a long journey she'd made beyond sitting in the infirmary to nurse him, but one that made her feel it was truly the only place she belonged.

He slept on his back, his face turned away, and she listened to the soft, comforting sound of his breathing. Her eyes followed the gentle rise and fall of his bare chest, making her smile with quiet joy for his presence in her life. Studying the masculine strength of his throat and shoulder, down to the boundary line where the blankets were tucked beneath his armpit, she toyed with the idea of waking him with a kiss or the sole reason of looking into his eyes once again. O_r perhaps with even more than a kiss…_

Surely he would not fight her now, especially after having shared his past with her. Though the respect he had for her by not consummating their marriage was an honor, it was also a source of frustration, for she wanted more than even the wonderful gift he'd given her. Introducing her to her own sensuality and taking her to an unfamiliar height of pleasure was only the beginning, and she wanted to share every bit of pleasure with him, hopefully giving him the same. But as she noted the lines of strain at the corners of his eyes and mouth she knew that he still needed his rest. He slept deeply and without moving, but she was now wide awake and hungry. So taking note of the distance between his back and the edge of the bed, she sat up, stretched and climbed over him to get out of bed.

The room was chilly, heated mostly from the distant fire in the great room. Turning her back to him she snatched up her tunic and dressed quickly, hand combing her hair and turning back to face him. As she began to lace up the tunic she watched his face, half wishing he would awaken and catch her. Something about the way he looked at her thrilled her to the core, making her think of doing things she would never have dreamed of doing before. Flirtatious things, risky things that indicated his power over her. She wanted to attract his interest. He had tempted her, teased her and made her feel brave, even suffering her strong will and changing moods. She finished lacing up her top as he turned to his other side, unknowingly missing his opportunity.

Shivering in the chilled air she bent to pull on her moccasins, deciding that it was his fault she was this way. He had taken her to an unknown realm of her own desire and need. It had taken time and patience on his part, but he had persisted, confronting and eventually defeating her insecurities, her fears and even her pride to the point where she had yielded her trust to him, accepting the gift of passion he had insisted upon giving her. He had changed her, caused her to see herself as something aside from a burden or property needing transference from one owner to another. Instead, he made her feel as if she was a rare and beautiful treasure worth braving an uncertain future to claim. Somehow Aaron had seen in her what no other man had, a spirit and a mind both longing to be set free to find their own place in the world. He had caught her attention, dared her to hope in something more, and eventually a place at his side. He had opened his eyes and his heart to her, and encouraged her to do the same.

Glancing back one more time to be sure she had not disturbed him, she opened the door and stepped out into the corridor. Closing it behind her, she padded softly down the hallway and paused to gaze across the great room toward the only two people in the building. The women were working quietly, humming softly and speaking in hushed tones as they seemed to be preparing whichever meal was due to be served. Upon her approach the taller one turned, and to her surprise Wenonah smiled in greeting. Behind her something simmered deliciously, its scent like that of bread and apples, and despite her answering smile her stomach growled and her mouth watered. Wenonah's eyes dropped to her belly and she shrugged innocently when both sets of eyes trapped her in place. The younger woman blushed and turned back to her work, but Wenonah crossed her arms and studied her frankly.

"Why you look tired?" she whispered, glancing toward the hallway. "He keep you up all night?"

Feeling the heat rise to her face Ceara shifted her attention to the younger woman, thankful that she seemed oblivious to the change in language and in particular the subject matter.

"Not all night," she admitted, a soft smile lighting her expression as she remembered the pleasurable memories she couldn't keep from flooding her mind. Afraid that somehow Wenonah would judge her not woman enough to tempt her own husband, she thought of excusing his exhaustion for that reason but abruptly changed her mind. She was just not one to lie. "He is still exhausted from the past few days."

"But you've slept through until dinnertime," Wenonah stated, planting her hands on her hips. Over one shoulder she told the other woman something, causing her to rush off to some other more urgent chore at the opposite end of the counter area. "There," she said with a satisfied grin, coming closer, "now tell me everything."

Ceara shot a horrified glance toward the younger woman, who was setting out cooked vegetables onto a platter. "I think not," she whispered, meeting her waiting gaze. "That is between husband and—"

"He told me you have no parents," Wenonah waved a hand, "especially no mother."

Thinking that she had fully grieved their loss, Ceara was surprised by the moisture that flooded her eyes. "No," she had to admit, "no mother…not any more."

Then Wenonah's expression softened and she wound her arm around her shoulders, leading her to the fire. Gesturing for her to sit, she took the seat next to the place indicated. "Your souls have not joined?" she guessed, a tender expression in her eyes.

"How did you know?" she said before thinking, amazed at Wenonah's perception. There was something in her expression that told her she would have no peace until she was completely honest. Resigned to that fate, she sighed and shook her head. "He wished to wait…"

Wenonah threw up her hands. "For what?" she hissed, stretching out her arm to indicate the nearly empty room. "We all tiptoe around, eat and sleep somewhere else waiting for him!"

Stifling a laugh despite herself, Ceara laid a hand on her arm. "I'm sorry," she breathed, "we are both so thankful for all that you have done for us, all of your people."

Wenonah shook her finger toward their room. "That man needs to be more selfish, and not just for your sake, but his!"

"We hardly know each other—"

"What does he need to know?" she demanded in a whisper. "Everybody sees how you look at him, and he at you!"

"He wanted to wait until he told me about his past, and his family," she defended Aaron, "his people."

Wenonah considered this with a firm nod. "All very good, and finally," she admitted, leaning closer. "But now maybe you can give him something to make him unable to help himself?"

When her meaning registered in Ceara's mind she shook her head, shocked. "I dare not—" she protested, despite the twinkle in Wenonah's eyes. Still, her curiosity overrode her upbringing. "Is there such a thing?"

Wenonah grinned. "Of course, but first tell me, then I give you a potion to slip into him—"

"I couldn't!" Ceara gasped, horrified that she had even entertained the thought of drugging Aaron. _It's not like you've never done that before,_ a voice said from somewhere inside her. But that was when he was in pain and fever, she argued—this is altogether different!

"Could not what?" Wenonah whispered, "tell me what you did share, or make him helpless to resist?"

"Both—neither!" Ceara gasped, placing a hand over her forehead. This was quickly snatched away by Wenonah's, who kept it cradled in her much larger and wrinkled hand.

"Does he give you pleasure?" she asked, prompting another hot blush of color to spread up her neck. "Good, and now he must let _you _give to him."

"Yes, of course," she whispered back, glancing toward the far end of the corridor where Aaron slept unsuspectingly. "But how? What should I do?"

"Do as he did," Wenonah advised, finishing when Ceara met her gaze again. "Most of all follow your heart, not your head."

"Do the same things?" she whispered, captivated by the idea, "to him?" Remembering Aaron's intimate gestures and kisses she bit her lower lip, trying to envision herself doing so to him. Everything she had read or heard on the subject indicated she must be submissive, indicting her behavior last night as reprehensible even though Aaron seemed to have enjoyed it. But wasn't it out of character for a proper wife to do such things, at least on a normal basis? Last night she had been desperate for him after their separation, perhaps dismissing the trespass. Yet now Wenonah was telling her the opposite, confusing her.

"Always look deeply into the eyes," Wenonah was advising, "and a playful touch is not to be despised. Most importantly, take your time and when it is your turn again teach him what pleases you. A good man will accept and honor the gesture."

Ceara pondered her advice, her thoughts drifting to all that they had shared. "He is a good man," she said softly.

"True fulfillment comes when both give," Wenonah concluded, smoothing her tunic over her lap before she rose to her feet. "Now take him food, play and eat again—after."

_**Holding her breath, Ceara gently touched the edge of the scone to his lower lip,**_ her heart thudding in her chest. Clutching the blankets higher, she detected the slight twitch of his lips and slightly deeper shift in his breathing. Daring to do it again, she smiled at the sleepy lift of his brows, withdrawing the food just enough to lean closer and kiss him softly. Straightening and watching him closely, it seemed that his expression relaxed once again. His breathing slowed and the seconds passed like hours as she waited for him to sense her presence. Wenonah's advice was no doubt gleaned from years of marriage, yet now she was beginning to feel silly. What if he didn't wake up? She shifted to lie upon her side, putting herself in closer proximity to the warmth of his skin. Sometime during the night he had taken off the leggings and wore only his long johns. Secretly thrilled but unable to picture herself doing that which Wenonah had advised, she decided for now just to tempt him with food in order to wake him up.

_Perhaps I should just be myself,_ she mused. Be more forthright: tap his shoulder, wait for him to have a clear mind and then discuss the matter before proceeding. No games, no teasing, just be honest about what you want. After all, they were keeping everyone out of their home and running out of time. Before they knew it they would have to leave the village, after which point she doubted they would have the opportunity, at least not for a long time.

It had taken nearly an hour for the food to be ready to carry back to their room, and judging by the glorious sunset she had witnessed while helping prepare the tray, they had only until morning. Surely Aaron had replenished his strength after all this rest, she reasoned as she stared at his sleeping profile. Her thoughts followed her eyes as they journeyed over his features. His dark wavy hair that was tossed in sleep had brushed against her bare skin as he cherished her with his touch. The strong planes of his face and well formed lips caused a slow burning desire to simmer for him. She studied the long column of his neck and broad span of his shoulders, then the muscled curve of the arm he had crooked beneath his pillow, and the other resting along his healing side. Its skin was sprinkled with smooth dark hair and she longed to stroke it. The thought caused something deep within her to yearn for him, stirring a restless hunger she somehow knew only he could satisfy.

With that sense came a certainty that this was love, however unexpectedly or unwillingly it had grown inside her. Even more amazing, she sensed that he felt the same way. It was true that they had been through a lot together, and their future was still uncertain at best. But whatever destiny awaited them, whether the war separated them or they were blessed to be together, it was expedient that they create memories of this time alone together which would carry them through whatever hardships awaited them. Wenonah was right, she decided: it was time.

Resolute, she lifted the scone to his lips, trusting its effectiveness from Wenonah's proud declaration that it was a tried and trusted replica of Britain's finest recipe. The Reverend Mitchell had carried it with him to their village in one of the many books he had brought and now, as she listened to the soft intake of his breath she realized he had finally taken note of its aroma. He seemed to inhale a bit deeper, but unfortunately fell back into quiet repose yet again.

Losing a bit of her patience, she poked it gently at the seam in his lips, nearly crying aloud when they parted and a crumb fell between them. Withdrawing it only the slightest distance she watched him expectantly, somewhat disappointed when he seemed to swallow it. Whether he did or not was uncertain, for he turned his head away with a soft sigh. Though she waited with a frown creasing her forehead, his breathing evened out enough to indicate failure.

Turning to toss the scone to the plate, she picked up a slice of dried apple and tried that. This time she trailed it like a breath just above his lower lip, smiling when his nose wrinkled. Somewhat encouraged, she leaned closer and gently touched it to the seam of his lips, squeaking in surprise when his hands clamped around her waist, holding her prisoner. Finding herself pressed down against his bare chest she watched as his eyes opened, staring again into their silvery depths. The knowing look in his eyes fascinated her, and with held breath she watched them lower to her lips.

"What have we here?" he said thickly, his voice hoarse with sleep. He pulled higher, causing the blanket covering her breasts to slip dangerously low, which also did not escape his notice. "A temptress, come to wake me?" he whispered, a lazy smile widening his sleepy grin.

"Hardly, sir," she retorted, ignoring the blush she felt creeping up her neck, "but a certain matter demands your attention..." The slow stroke of his hand along her bare back made her shiver with pleasure, but nevertheless she brought the morsel of scone back to his lips. "…food."

Parting his lips he accepted it, his eyes capturing hers. She couldn't help staring at the fascinating movement of his lips as he chewed it at his leisure. Molten silver shards glittered from the darkening grey of his eyes, making her heart speed up. She pretended complete ease despite the wondrous feel of his solid strength stretched beneath her. She lifted her hand to rest her head upon it, sliding her other palm up his chest, loving the way his breathing accelerated from her touch. He swallowed, a ghost of a smile lifting the corners of his well formed mouth.

"You must join me," he whispered in command, lifting her palm and redirecting it to serve her a bite. It was just as delicious as it smelled, and she ate it with a smile upon her lips. He stared up at her, eyes challenging her to do what she could only guess he might want her to do. Undecided, she stared back into his maddeningly indulgent expression.

"There is another matter," she suggested, reaching to feed him another morsel. This he accepted obediently and chewed, waiting for her to continue. Suddenly inspired, she lifted her brows. "I'm cold," she stated as she shifted off him to lie at his side, bringing the blankets with her. But he caught a glimpse of her nakedness as he turned to face her, his eyes widening as he drew her into his embrace. Beneath the blankets she felt his delicious warmth seep into her bare skin through his long johns. He closed his eyes and tilted his head back into the pillow, making her smile mischievously.

"You aren't wearing anything," he groaned as she slid her palms over his ribs.

"Correct," she whispered, pressing closer to kiss the corner of his mouth. "Do you object?"

He barked out a laugh and pulled her atop him, lifting his head to kiss her ardently. She sighed against his lips, threading her hands into his hair. He broke the kiss to gaze up at her, his breath fanning her face. "Far from it," he whispered with a smile. "And something tells me you might be hungry as well…"

"There _is_ more food," she laughed, tilting her head back as he pressed kisses beneath jaw.

"Mmmm, delicious," he drawled, kissing his was toward her left ear. "Thank you," he sighed into her ear, making her shiver with pleasure.

"I didn't make it," she admitted, feeling him guide her gently to her back as he kissed her cheek.

"Not the meal," he whispered, his breath tickling her skin, "you."

She held his head in place, silently demanding his kiss as the need for speaking was replaced by glance and touch, breath and sigh. He led her along that wondrous path of love, this time staying with her until she pulled him over and within to revel in the beauty of his possession. This time he shared an even greater passion with her until they were truly and irrevocably husband and wife. In doing so he banished all her past fears and insecurities until there was nothing but mutual love and acceptance between them.

Finally resting his head in the pillows, Aaron cradled her in his arms as her eyes filled with tears of several emotions she couldn't distinguish. Deciding the most prominent to be true happiness, she turned her face against his neck and kissed him, inhaling what by now was his familiar scent. She closed her eyes and settled safely in his embrace, feeling as if she had found a home for herself at last. As he labored to recover his breath, she smoothed a hand over his shoulder.

"Aaron," she breathed, glancing up at him, "are you all right?"

He opened his eyes to hers, drawing the blankets over them both and making her feel cherished and protected. "Promise me you'll wake me thus as often as possible," he panted, closing his eyes again.

"If I can," she laughed softly, "but I'm still hungry," she confessed, feeling the gentle rumble of his laughter beneath her chest. He lifted a shoulder to reach for the plate, placing it upon his chest and feeding her a slice of scone. She lifted her head and ate, gazing into his eyes. At that moment they were lit with an appreciative glow. She smiled, popping a piece into his mouth.

"You look content enough," she remarked.

He swallowed with a grin. "So do you, milady."

"Another?" she asked, breaking off a piece for herself, then offering him another.

He studied her a moment, reaching a hand to her hair. "Did I hurt you?" he whispered.

She leaned forward to place a kiss upon his lips. "Only at first," she said truthfully, "but then it was fine." _Very fine indeed…_

His eyes probed hers until he seemed satisfied. "Hmmm," he sighed, kissing her lazily, "then it was a worthy plan?"

She smiled, toying with a lock of his hair. "I think you know the answer to that."

"Good," he breathed, closing his eyes and curling an arm around her. "Let's never move from this spot."

"Just a short nap," she agreed with a yawn, laying her cheek over his heart.

_**Joseph was striding toward him**_ by the time Aaron climbed back up the rear steps to the longhouse. He could tell it was him by his height and pace, even in the darkness. He pulled the blanket closer, more to hide his bare chest than for warmth.

"What's wrong?" he asked as the brave took up his post gain, casting furtive glances around the rear perimeter of the village.

"The scouting party just returned," he answered softly, finally turning to meet his gaze. "They brought with them a band of Continentals found wandering the forest. The chief would like you to take a look at them, make sure they are genuine."

Aaron nodded. "All right…when?"

"Another hour, after they are questioned; their sergeant was brought to the infirmary."

"I'll go there first," Aaron answered. "Are you going off watch?"

"As soon as my replacement arrives."

"Thank you, Joseph—and get some well deserved rest."

"I will."

_**Ceara awoke suddenly, realizing she was alone.**_ Wrapping the quilt around her, she sat up and started to get out of bed when the door opened, startling her. She gasped in surprise, unable to see who it was in the darkness.

"It's me," Aaron whispered as he closed the door. She pushed back her hair, watching his dark shadow move across the room to light the lantern. When he did he kept it very low, just enough for her to see him drape the blanket over the char and reach for his shirt. She watched the play of light over his muscles, deciding it was truly a magnificent sight.

"I must leave you for a bit," he said apologetically, keeping his voice just above a whisper. She thought it must be the middle of the night and wondered what he was up to now.

"Why—where are you going?" she whispered, feeling her groggy mind begin to clear. He came toward her and sat by her side, enfolding her in his arms and kissing her lips tenderly.

"Harrison needs me in the infirmary," he said quietly. "I'll be back as soon as I can."

"Is someone ill?"

"Injured, I believe—apparently a group of Continentals was passing by and had an accident."

Puzzled, she watched him bend to pull on his boots. "Does this happen often?"

"No, not often, but don't worry—they only want me to take a look at them, just to make sure they seem to be who they say they are."

"But how will you know?"

He got up to tuck in his shirt, looking down at her as he finished dressing. "They seem to think I have special powers about this kind of thing..."

"I'm sure you do," she sighed, stretching back into the mattress as she watched him. He pulled on his jacket and came back to her, sitting and stretching toward her open arms. They shared a hot and ardent kiss until he groaned in protest and began to pull away. "Come back soon," she teased with a smile.

"Believe me, I've no desire to leave this room," he told her, kissing her again before he got up. "But we have to be cautious…I am sure you can appreciate that."

She said nothing more, lying there watching him. There was a change in him, she sensed once she had forced herself beyond feeling left all alone in their bed in the middle of the night.

"I will try not to be too long," he whispered, lowering the light even more. "Try to go back to sleep."

"I will…" _He needs his work_, she realized. _Just as I need mine…_

At the door he paused, gazing back at her thought she could barely see his face in the darkness. And then he stepped out and closed it silently behind him.

_**"My name is Reverend Mitchell,"**_ Harrison repeated for the second time as he finished securing the bandage around the sergeant's head. "Now why don' you tell me yours?"

"Can't," was the hoarse reply.

He watched the man attempt to open his eyes again, blinking even in the dimmed light and in obvious pain. "We only passed through on our way to muster."

"From where, and to whence?" Harrison asked though he knew he would not be answered.

"Better you don't know," the man sighed, "…just tell the Oneida we appreciate the help."

"I will," Harrison promised, rising to the low knock at his door. He opened it to find Aaron standing there, his expression sober. He nodded in greeting but said nothing as he entered and went over to the cot to gaze down at the wounded man. "I thought you would be enjoying some well deserved rest by now," he couldn't resist saying as he closed the door.

"I was," Aaron stated cynically, never one to disappoint Harrison with his dry wit. Harrison noted how his keen gaze traveled suspiciously over the man's ragged uniform, focusing upon the regiment patch Harrison was not able to identify even with all his past years of experience as chaplain. Aaron looked up as he nodded toward the patient. "Is he lucid?"

"Off and on," he sighed, seating himself at his desk. "He took a good blow to the head, apparently from a tree limb. I sewed half a dozen stitches into his temple and gave him a good enough draught for the pain."

Aaron sat carefully upon the stool he himself had just vacated, his eyes intent upon the man's face. "Sergeant?" he spoke, waiting for a rise from the man. To Harrison's surprise he dragged his lids up to peer furtively up at Aaron. "Do you hail recently from Fort Schuyler?" he was asked.

"Yeah," he gasped after a moment, astounding Harrison. All of his questions had been evaded, yet now for some reason he'd decided to cooperate with Aaron. "Who wants to know?"

Aaron smiled, laying a hand on the man's arm. "A fellow patriot," he confessed.

"You look…like a Tory."

"I'll overlook that offense," Aaron huffed. "Your accent places you near the Berkshires," he stated, waiting for a confirmation.

"Yours places you in Scotland…like I said, a Tory."

Harrison held Aaron's gaze, shaking his head in wonder. "You do have your ways."

Aaron frowned. "They've caused me many night of interrupted sleep."

"He may not see too well," Harrison admitted, "but there is nothing wrong with his hearing; it is a good sign."

Aaron turned back to the man. "We're all from somewhere else, if not native," he continued despite the man's closed eyes. "But my father's family did hail from Scotland."

"Mine from Deerfield," he sighed, lifting a tentative hand to his head. "We did let the scouts go their way…"

"They came back when they heard the crack of the tree limb," Harrison told Aaron, who nodded but did not look away from the man.

"Whose orders bring you to muster?" he wanted to know.

"Best not share too much," was the answer. "We'll be heading south…no need to worry..."

"The rumors of closing Schuyler must be true," Aaron said absently. "You'll mend in a few days, Sergeant. We'll see to it that you and your men are escorted safely along your—"

"I know you," the man interrupted, finally managing to open his eyes wider. His gaze was a bit unsteady as he looked up at Aaron. "I've seen you…with the officers there."

Aaron threw Harrison a troubled glance. "I've been to Schuyler a few times on business," he admitted despite the risk to his identity. "But I'm no Tory."

"You report to Burke," the man argued, closing his eyes weakly. "You two spend a lot of time alone…"

Aaron laughed, shaking his head. "It's not what you think."

"Tory," he insisted drowsily, finally going still.

"He'll be under for some time," Harrison said when Aaron rose and came to his side. "Do you _know_ the man?" he whispered, eyeing the soldier.

"No, but when he comes to tell him I've returned to Providence."

"Why—you've no need to explain yourself—"

"Just do it, please," Aaron sighed, glancing toward the window. "I cannot have anyone suspect anything."

"All right," Harrison agreed as he accompanied him to the door. "Going to inspect his men as well?"

Aaron nodded before they stepped out and closed it behind them. "I'll be glad to finally leave," he sighed, "especially now that I've been recognized."

"If they've closed Schuyler there's no point taking her there," Harrison urged. "You should find out where they intend to muster and wait for her brother there. It doesn't matter that he _thinks_ he knows who you are. He may even forget the entire incident tonight, with that kind of head wound."

Aaron clamped a hand down upon his shoulder in farewell. "Everything matters, Reverend," he stated, "…you of all people should know that."

_**"They seem sincere," Aaron told the chief,**_ who nodded in agreement.

"We convinced them to write their names on a list," he informed Aaron. "They believe it will help ease their sergeant's mind to learn that no one is missing."

"I'm sure Harrison will study it carefully," Aaron said knowingly, shaking the chief's hand. "Thank you for all you've done for us, Sir."

"I regret pulling you from your bed," the chief replied with a glint in his eyes. "I trust your stay has been comfortable?"

"Very, thank you; we will be ready to leave by dawn."

"Your horse will be waiting for you, along with some provisions," the chief added. "Tell your bride it was our pleasure meeting her. You have chosen well, _Aaron_."

Their eyes met and after a moment Aaron bowed curtly, finally turning to make his way back to their room.

He walked stiffly toward the longhouse, knowing it had taken longer than anticipated to question nearly every soldier individually. In doing so he had eventually pieced together their plans, which appeared to involve a brief furlough home before reporting to winter headquarters in New Jersey. It was the same plan he had been given at Burke's briefing, as was the long range plan to send more recruits south to reinforce the main armies by spring. By that time he would be back on duty as well, perhaps even following there himself. He pursed his lips at the thought, for only bitter memories surrounded that part of the colonies. And it meant he hadn't much time to be with Ceara before then.

Tired and drained, he again doubted the wisdom of continuing on to Fort Schuyler, for the men had given similar accounts of heightened hostilities along the Mohawk River, as well of bouts of siege at the fort's crucial stand. Nevertheless he would leave the decision to Ceara. To his knowledge there had been no word of her brother having been transferred to a different post, so they had to assume he was still there holding out until the end. If she changed her mind once they encountered real danger, which he did not doubt, he would then take her north and eastward, home to meet his mother and family. If they did successfully reach Schuyler and see her brother, he still planned to taker her to New Hampshire despite the years since he'd last been there. Now that he had been forced into a leave of disability and had the good fortune to meet and marry Ceara, he intended to claim his inheritance as soon as possible.

_**  
Harrison glanced at his patient one more time**_ before rushing out the door, down the stairs and across the yard toward Aaron's longhouse. Praying that he had not missed them, he reassured himself with the assumption that Ceara would not wish to leave without saying goodbye to him. They had spent a wonderful day together and he knew that she had also enjoyed his company, albeit he was a poor substitute for Aaron. Now, with parchment in hand he ran toward the scouting party he saw gathered, dismayed to see her sitting atop her horse with Aaron at her side, affixing their bags to the saddle with his back to him.

"Wait!" he shouted, running toward them and waving the parchment. "Don't go! Wait!"

He saw the exact moment when Ceara looked up and Aaron turned, both pausing to gaze in his direction in surprise. Finally reaching their side he laid a hand over his heaving chest, still waving the parchment. "Glad I caught you before you left!" he panted.

Aaron's gaze flitted over his features as he frowned. "What's wrong?" he asked quietly, his glare shifting suspiciously over their surroundings.

"I'm sorry," Ceara was saying with an embarrassed tone, "I didn't say goodbye or even thank you for everyth—"

"Your maiden name—," Harrison gasped, still trying to catch his breath, "what is it?"

She threw Aaron a worried look before staring at him in surprise. "It's Connolly, but why—"

"I knew it!" he rejoiced, holding up the list of names toward her. "Read it for yourself, my dear!"

"Harrison," Aaron warned, resting a protective hand upon her baggy trousers as he studied her expression while she read it. When she looked first to him, then to Harrison, her face paled considerably.

"_James Connolly_," she choked, staring back at the list, "…it says _James Connolly, Sergeant_…"

"He's in the infirmary," Harrison panted, gazing up at her. "Is the name familiar?"

She looked up, meeting first Aaron's and then his gaze. "That's my brother's name," she said in a soft husky voice, reaching down a hand to place upon Aaron's shoulder as she started to dismount. "Is he well—may I see him?"

"He took a bad blow to the head, but he'll recover," Harrison reassured her as Aaron gripped her by the waist and swung her down.

"How did you know?" Aaron asked, ignoring Ceara's tug upon his sleeve.

"Please, Aaron—I have to be sure it's really him!" she gasped, turning them all toward the infirmary.

"She introduced herself to me as Ceara Connolly," Harrison answered happily, glancing at her while they walked. "She wasn't yet accustomed to her new surname."

Ceara had one arm through Aaron's but gripped Harrison's arm as well. "Please Rev. Mitchell, tell me what happened to him!"

_c. 2008 by Christine Levitt_


	19. Chapter 19 A New Start

_**Chapter 19 A New Start**_

Ceara reached out a hesitant hand to the man lying upon the cot, his head swathed in bandages. He had changed a great deal since the last time she'd seen him. He looked thinner than he should be, yet at the same time strong and capable—no longer a boy but a man.

"Jamie?" she said softly, resting her hand upon his shoulder.

He jolted in surprise, stiffening beneath her touch. His eyes opened a slit before he began blinking as if in pain. "Wha—?"

"It's Ceara," she assured him, leaning closer so that he might see her better. No doubt the head wound was affecting his vision. "Rest your eyes, if it pains you."

"Cear?" he gasped, stretching a hand across his chest to grip hers. "Is it really you?"

She smiled and nodded, feeling her breath catch at the nickname from the past. "I could hardly believe it when I heard you were here—are you all right?"

"I don't kno—" he stopped short, realization lighting his expression. "What are _you _doing out in the middle of no—"

"I was on my way to see you," she said, suddenly overwhelmed with emotion as his presence brought back a wave of old memories of what they had suffered. "It's been so long—I had to make sure you were all right."

"Are you crazy?" he gasped, trying to shift to a sitting position but groaning in pain.

"Stay still—" she ordered, pushing him back down.

"I thought Caleb could be trusted to keep you safe…" he complained, still trying to see her clearly.

Ceara glanced over her shoulder to Aaron, who stood in the shadows watching them in silence. "He certainly tried," she answered, smiling at Caleb's failure. Her husband's eyes lit with understanding as Jamie squeezed her hand.

"Is that the doctor?" he demanded.

She turned back to face him, stretching her other hand out. "No, Jamie, it's not the doctor. There's someone I want you to meet."

Aaron came to her side, taking her hand as he stood gazing down at them. "This is Aaron Green," she introduced, "my husband."

Jamie squinted up at him suspiciously, his face paling. "You!"

"We meet again," Aaron said quietly, extending his hand.

"Husband?" Jamie choked, glaring at Aaron. "Not the _Tory!_"

She looked up at Aaron, wondering why it seemed as if they had already met.

"We didn't know his name at the time," he explained softly, lowering his hand back to his side.

"You're married? And to a Tory no less!" Jamie said incredulously, squeezing his eyes shut. "I suppose I have Godwin to thank for that…"

Ceara took Aaron's hand again, winding her fingers through his. "In a way, I suppose you do," she admitted to Jamie, "but Aaron is no Tory."

He bent toward her ear, his gaze on Jamie's spent expression. "I'll leave you two alone," he whispered there, kissing her temple in farewell.

She tugged at his hand. "Don't go," she whispered back, aware of her brother's scrutiny.

"I think it would be best," he insisted, looking back to find Jamie's eyes upon them once again. "It was good to have met you."

At Jamie's silence Aaron pursed his lips and turned, taking his leave. Ceara followed him with longing eyes, sighing softly after the door closed behind him.

"You're in _love_ with him," Jamie accused softly.

Turning to face him, she found his gaze more focused. "Yes," she admitted with a smile, "very much so…"

Jamie closed his eyes and seemed to relax. She sought for an appropriate defense for her actions, surprised when his badly chapped lips formed a smile. "Well I'll be," he sighed, "… it's about time."

_**Aaron nodded to Wenonah in silent greeting, passing her on his way to warm himself by her fire. **_After leaving Ceara alone with her brother he'd seen to resettling their belongings before walking off his frustrations for the remainder of the morning. Jamie's hostility was not a good indication of his standing with her family, yet even more troublesome was his having recognized him from Fort Stanwix. Once again his position was compromised and he had all he could do to fight the urge to take Ceara away as fast as he could. The longer he lingered here around men who could very well expose him the more he jeopardized the carefully set covert operations they had established. Still, it was obvious that Ceara hadn't seen her brother in a very long time and needed the opportunity to be with him, particularly in his wounded state. Feeling restless and agitated, he told himself that Jamie would heal soon enough and be on his way, at which point they would be free to ride North to deal with his own relatives, the prospect of which caused him even greater frustration. Spreading his hands toward the warmth of the fire, he nearly jumped when Wenonah's voice broke through his reverie.

"She leave without you?" her low voice teased, and when he turned his head to retort "of course not" he stopped at her warm smile.

"She is with her brother," he answered tightly, seating himself upon one of the boulders. She swept up the edges of her long tunic and did the same, leaning into his side.

"I heard from Harrison—I worried about your meeting," she said gently.

"I suppose Harrison told you how badly it went," he drawled, gazing back into the fire, although he could not envision Harrison eavesdropping at the door.

"No, he did not," she huffed, reaching forward to stir one of the cooking pots. "Once the brother knows you, he will understand your position."

"I doubt he will be given the opportunity," he said blandly, feeling exhausted despite it being only mid-day. In his experience family relations were even more difficult than some battles.

"But the Almighty brought you together for a reason," she argued, her eyes upon his profile. When he turned his attention back to her she smiled knowingly. "There is no other explanation."

Aaron stared at her, awed by her faith. As he considered the circumstances he realized he could not argue with her. "I suppose it is a rather startling coincidence."

"It isn't right, failing to get her family's blessing," she said, "but now her brother can give it. Even more importantly, you are now spared the journey to find him—of course it was His will!"

"Such attention to detail would indeed be extraordinary," he granted, praying that she would forego this opportunity to engage him in another religious discussion. Ever since Harrison had come here and converted half the tribe, the village was no longer the safe refuge he needed for his war torn soul.

"You think so, too!" she said hopefully, her eyes searching his. "You are coming closer, Aharon, if I am not mistaken."

At a loss as to how to respond, he turned back to the fire feeling like the only heathen left in the colony. "I would not go as far as to presume that," he said carefully, not wishing to offend her.

"Don't _brood_ so," she scolded, surprising him by kissing his cheek. Getting up, she planted her hands upon her hips. "You are far too young to brood."

He laughed cynically, shaking his head. "I feel as if I'm 100 years old."

"Because you don't take time to rest and enjoy yourself," she lectured, directing her gaze out toward the direction of the infirmary. "Yet somehow I feel that little wife of yours will see to it that you finally do!"

He half turned to look at her. "Then there is hope for me?"

"Of course!" she breathed, tousling his hair and making him feel as if he were five years old. "There is always hope—now, let me prepare you a feast in honor of the reunion."

He choked back a protest as she glided off, scanning the great room to reassure himself that no one had overheard them. Thankfully everyone present seemed busy at their respective chores.

"If only you were right," he sighed, rising to go to their room for a short nap.

_**Three days later they were saying goodbye,**_ Aaron holding onto Pierce's reins as he stood by Ceara's side to face Jamie. Flanked by Harrison and two of his own men, Jamie had dressed in full uniform to see them off. His color had improved and he now wore a smaller bandage over his scalp. Over the last two days he had improved dramatically under Ceara's care, managing a steadier gait until he could finally discard his cane.

Jamie smiled fondly at Ceara, patting the breast pocket of his uniform to assure her he had her letters. "I will hand carry them to our dear sister and get directions to your friend Betsy's home," he vowed, his gaze flitting to Aaron who remained a silent observer. After much prompting by his wife he had agreed to copy down the address of his estate, failing to mention the fact that it lay in virtual neglect since his last journey home. As for his other address, that of necessity would remain secret.

Ceara again discussed plans for a full family reunion upon their next leave, though judging by the look in Jamie's eyes both men knew the odds against that ever happening. Although neither spoke of it, an understanding had grown between them, one which Aaron sensed came only from their shared experience of war. Now, as Jamie hugged and kissed his sister one last time before she turned to mount, Aaron felt his gaze as he helped her up. When he tapped his shoulder Aaron turned, finding Jamie's hand extended.

Meeting his gaze, he shook his hand, feeling Jamie's resistance as he began to withdraw it. "It was good to meet you," he stated, his eyes apologetic. "Welcome to the family, Aaron."

Aaron nodded, shaking his hand before releasing it. "The pleasure is mine."

Jamie searched his gaze, parting his lips as if to speak his mind before his expression brightened. "Take good care of her," he breathed, lifting that hand to salute and wave to Ceara.

"I will," Aaron replied, eager to be on their way. The sun was setting and they had a long way to go before reaching the river. Thankfully the horizon was clear of threatening clouds.

"Bye, Jamie," Ceara said softly, her eyes full of unshed tears. She smiled down at him, shifting higher in the saddle to give him room to mount behind her. After he did she laid a hand upon his thigh, her eyes upon her brother. "I love you," she told her brother, smiling when he looked embarrassed. His men chuckled and turned away as Harrison said his farewells.

"Love you too," Jamie said, stepping back and nodding to Aaron. He watched them turn and start toward the path which would lead them out of the village.

As they slowly rode out a crowd of villagers stopped what they were doing to wave goodbye in a royal send off which Aaron found touching. These people were like family to him, he realized unexpectedly, lifting his hand in good bye. Joseph rode out before them, turning to catch Aaron's eye before he nodded. He had offered to accompany them across the Hudson and return, after which point they were on their own.

They rode slowly beyond the palisades and climbed into the denser forest, enveloped by the silence of the twilight. Ceara leaned back against his chest and gripped his forearms as he tightened his hold around her, both finding words unnecessary. He wondered what explanation she might have given her brother concerning their meeting and hasty marriage, trusting that she would reveal only the most necessary details to keep his role confidential. Jamie, he sensed, was clever enough to fill in the blanks if he so chose, and Aaron considered the fact that he had stopped calling him Tory as a good indication of his understanding of the situation.

Ceara turned in his arms to nuzzle his throat with her forehead, circling her arms around him as he gazed down into her dark eyes. He bent his head and kissed her gently.

"I love you," she whispered, tucking her head beneath his chin.

"And I you," he whispered back, deeply affected by her nearness and response. His gaze shifted to Joseph's back and took a quick survey of their surroundings. She relaxed in his arms and drifted off, exhausted from staying up very late to add to her brief time with her brother. They had fallen into bed and quick oblivion, sharing no intimacy. He longed to taste her kiss and lose himself within her, yet he understood the time was not right. If this journey went as he planned they could cross the Hudson by night and ride north before heading east, and there was an inn he knew well that was not far inland. Perhaps there they might be free to further explore their relationship in more complete privacy.

Lifting his eyes to the starry heavens he felt something close to peace, deep within his soul. He realized that he was thankful for the time he had spent away from war, and for all he had experienced therein. His life had taken a sudden and unexpected turn, but only for the good. Thinking of Wenonah's words, he began to wonder if perhaps she was right. He had always thought he believed in God, whose unseen hand wrote the pages of history and sketched out the future. Breathing in the freshness of the night he pondered what he knew about the stars, by which he had charted his earthly course through even the most dense wilderness territories, as well as across many a plain of battle.

Now, holding his sleeping wife in his arms, he ventured further back in time, his thoughts centering upon the soft whispers of memory shifting within him. Before realizing what he was doing his lips whispered the words of the shema in the ancient language he'd thought he'd long forgotten:

_Hear, O Israel: The LORD is our God; the LORD is One. And that shalt love the LORD thy God with all thine heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy might. And these words, which I command thee this day, shall be in thine heart; and thou shalt teach them diligently unto thy children, and thou shalt talk of them when thou sittest in thine house, and when thou walkest by the way, and when thou liest down, and when thou risest up… Deuteronomy 6:4…_

Incredibly they gushed up from deep within him, somehow drawn forth by the wonder of the canopy of twinkling lights above him. He was reminded of the covenant the Eternal had made with Abraham, and thus with all mankind. He struggled to remember the accounts his mother had read to him since childhood, and as he did an awesome presence overshadowed them, so real that he sensed Someone had taken note of their presence and was watching them. Shifting his attention to Joseph, who rode on ahead of them, he knew the man was completely unaware of what was happening. Humbled, Aaron submitted his reasoning faculties to the reality surrounding them and prayed to understand, listening and praying again. Though he sensed no answer, the sense of being watched remained, so he finished with a silent plea for their safe arrival home. To his surprise, he heard Wenonah's voice repeating over and over in his mind: _You are coming closer, Aharon, if I am not mistaken… _And for the first time, he began to wonder if she hadn't been right all along.

_**Betsy looked up from Ceara's letter into the face of her brother Jamie. **_Still grieving for her lost love, she felt her eyes fill with tears, but smiled anyway. "Thank you, for bringing this," she breathed, tucking it into her apron pocket.

"You can have Aaron's room," Paulie declared, reddening as he shot a guilty look at Betsy.

"Of course you can," she said brightly, suddenly finding the idea of inviting Ceara's brother to stay with them a welcome relief. She had to report to work later that day, and was still uneasy about leaving the children here alone. "If you'd like, that is," she added somewhat hesitantly.

Jamie's eyes bored into hers, making her feel as if he could read her soul. "I would not want to impose," he said stoically.

"Where else you gonna stay?" Paulie wanted to know.

"Paulie, remember your manners," Faith scolded gently, her interested gaze darting between the adults.

"My sister's home is a possibility," he stated, although he had already gone there and been told they were traveling out of the colony on Caleb's business.

"But they won't be back till tomorrow," Faith interjected, looking embarrassed as soon as she said it.

"Please, we insist," Betsy added, "just until they return?"

"Pleaaasssse?" Paulie smiled, leaning on Jamie's arm. "We want to hear all about Ceara and Lieu—

about Aaron."

"Paulie, don't nag!" Faith said, tugging at her brother's arm. "Excuse us—we must get supper onto the table, before it gets cold."

Jamie turned to watch them, obviously amused at their antics. Betsy studied his profile, seeing a bit of a resemblance to Ceara and her sister. When he looked back to catch her studying him, she saw a glint of longing in his eyes before it vanished. Perhaps he was remembering his own childhood, or perhaps his lost baby brothers. For some reason it occurred to her that she must scold Ceara for not mentioning to her how handsome her brother was. Quickly dismissing the thought as inappropriate, she shot to her feet.

"We can continue getting acquainted, if you don't mind my setting the table," she checked with him. He got to his feet and smiled.

"Not at all, but please—" he said, following her to the table, "let me help?"

She looked up at him and nodded. "All right, thank you."

"It smells delicious," he said, taking the four plates she handed him. "It has been a very long time since I had a home cooked meal."

"I can imagine," she answered, beginning to set out the silver. "How long has it been since you left?"

"Four years," he sighed. "Probably about the time you and Ceara met."

"That is about right," she nodded, glancing up at him. "Your sister is my dearest friend, James."

"Please, call me Jamie," he said with a slight scold in his voice. "That way it won't sound like roll call."

"All right, Jamie," she agreed, setting four mugs onto the table, which he began to move to each place setting.

"She also spoke well of you," he told her. "I assume you met while working at the infirmary?"

"Yes, I trained her, actually," Betsy said, handing him the napkins. "She learns quickly and is very gifted in her work."

He paused with his hand on the chair. "And you both nursed Aaron back to health?"

"Yes, we did," she answered, tilting her head to study his stern expression. "You seem to have reservations about him."

He grimaced but held her gaze. "He is a bit too mysterious for my taste."

"Isn't he?" she smiled, leaning forward to place the last fork by her plate. "I think that is one thing about him Ceara finds fascinating—but I watched them form a friendship and begin to cherish each other's company," she added, her eyes tearing up again when she thought of her own lost love.

"You lost someone," he said quietly, startling her. She smiled as the children burst in carrying trays of food.

"Ah, dinner is served!" she said brightly, stretching her hand toward the chair at the head of the table. "Please, sit down."

Jamie's gaze rested upon her as he nodded and sat down, and she sensed that he knew he had read her accurately. He let Paulie serve him, watching with a half bemused smile and as the evening progressed letting the children fuss over their guest. When Faith got up to announce dessert and asked her brother to help her clear the plates, he sat back and sighed contentedly.

"That was a fine meal indeed," he proclaimed, "I had no idea I would stumble onto such grand hospitality!"

Betsy waved a hand. "It was just an ordinary meal, but we are happy you enjoyed it."

"I disagree," he stated, making Paulie giggle with delight. "Compared to what my men and I have had to chew on these past months, it was very rich fare indeed."

"_**Jake and Silas Tuttle," Aaron repeated again, **_annoyed by the trouble the clerk at the inn seemed to have with recording their fake names. After riding all night they were exhausted, and it being mid morning the inn was nearly vacant judging by the array of room keys hanging upon the wall behind the man. Perhaps the man hesitated due to their appearance, Aaron realized as Ceara leaned heavily against him. To confirm that fact, the clerk's brows shot up and he reddened but kept his gaze downcast. Dressed in boy's clothing she clung to him as a woman might, but not a brother. Aaron shrugged his arm and she straightened, but to hurry the process along and avoid further attention he Aaron tossed another coin upon the worn counter. "We want your best room—the sooner the better."

The man's eyes widened before he snatched up the coin, dropped the pen and turned to take down the key at the #1 hook. "Yes sir—right away."

Aaron took Ceara's arm and guided her along in the man's wake, noting how with sudden efficiency and speed he led them up the stairs, preceded them to their left and all the way down the corridor to its end. Ceara's head slumped against his shoulder as they paused while the key was inserted, turned and the door opened. He shrugged and she righted herself, keeping her hat low over her face as usual. They found themselves ushered into a large master bedroom, complete with an oversized double bed which stood upon a curtained platform. There the clerk turned to face them, his expression troubled by Ceara's averted face.

"He all right?" he whispered to Aaron, his eyes on Ceara's bent form.

"My brother is young and unfamiliar with hard travel," Aaron explained, nodding to the man. "Thank you for your assistance."

He man nodded, not looking convinced. "Luncheon will be served within the hour in the dining room," he announced, handing him the key as Ceara walked a bit unsteadily toward the dressing screen and disappeared behind it. The man leaned to one side to watch, obviously finding her behavior quite uncharacteristic for a youth.

"We prefer our meals delivered here," Aaron interrupted, not even trying to hide his disapproval of his rudeness. "I will pay extra, if necessary."

At the mention of monetary compensation the man straightened and became laughably business like. "Yes sir—"

Aaron took his arm and ushered him toward the door, not daring to look back to see what Ceara was up to. "Just have the server knock before leaving the tray outside the door."

"Very well, sir," the man stated with a nervous bow and a glance down the corridor to see if anyone else was about. "You will not be disturbed."

"I appreciate that," Aaron stated, closing the door between them and latching it securely. Running a hand over his face, he leaned back against it, praying no gossip would plague their brief visit.

"I need help," Ceara called from behind the screen, her voice hoarse with weariness. Pulling away from the door he started toward it, assuming she needed help unfastening the corset which flattened her figure to make her look like his brother.

Craning his neck around the screen he muttered a protest as she snagged it with one arm and pulled him into her embrace. Laughing softly, he curled his arm around her hips and lifted her chin with his other hand. They shared a hungry, drugging kiss until she stumbled upon her tiptoes.

"Can you unlace me?" she choked, sliding a hand beneath his coat to touch his vest. "I'm too tired—"

Cut off by his kiss, he satisfied his hunger for a moment until she sighed with pleasure. Then turning with her he sat down backwards upon the window seat.

"I would be honored," he breathed, turning her again until her back was to him. As he worked he wondered how she even managed to lace it up, unless Wenonah or one of the other women helped her. With her hands massaging his thighs he found it difficult to concentrate and finish, but when it was done he tugged the garment away, sliding her chemise backward off her shoulders before she caught it. Whirling around with one hand holding her gaping neckline close, she smiled in warning, moving closer to peel his coat back off his shoulders. They fumbled with each other's clothing until he realized she stood facing the window, at which point he rose to shield her from view and guided her away from sight.

"Aaron—"

"Come to bed," he commanded softly, gripping her waist and lifting her backwards onto the bed. She braced her hands at his temples and pulled him into a deeply stirring kiss, leaning back as he stretched over her and kissed her greedily. After a few moments' struggle they finished ridding themselves of their outer garments and slid beneath the blankets. As if realizing he missed an important detail, he reached past her to draw the bed curtains around her side of the bed, shielding them from the window and even the door by sliding them halfway round its perimeter. As he climbed back into her arms she sighed, hugging him close.

"Do you think the innkeeper truly believes I'm a boy?" she chuckled, smoothing her hand across his chest and making him shiver in response.

"Unfortunately I do," he laughed, lifted her chemise over her head and pulling her up against him. "Though I'll wager he doubts we are truly brothers," he admitted.

She gasped and covered her mouth, her eyes wide. "He thinks we are—?"

He pressed his length into hers, loving her soft gasp of pleasure as he kissed her briefly. "I'm afraid so, love."

"But he must not think that about you," she whispered, tracing his lower lip with her fingertip before she lifted her head and tugged at his lip with hers.

He lightly caressed her skin, kissing the side of her neck as she trembled in his arms. "It is safer for us if he does," he breathed, kissing her with tentative touches as he studied her reactions. When she stilled beneath him and closed her eyes, he rose to gaze down upon her.

"I won't press you if you're too tired—" he whispered, watching her carefully.

Tightening her grip around his waist, she opened her eyes and showed him the love shining there. "After I've been waiting for two days to have you all to myself?" she stated with a smile.

He smiled back. "We can rest after," he whispered, kissing her gently.

And choosing to shut the world out while they enjoyed their first moments of true privacy, they expressed their love until they finally stilled in each other's arms. Sleep claimed and held them in its embrace, muffling the soft knock upon the door announcing the arrival of their luncheon tray. When dinner hour came and passed it was quietly collected, replaced only with a covered tray of cheese, bread and fruit for whenever they chose to acknowledge it.


	20. Chapter 20 The New Hampshire Grants

_**Chapter 20 The New Hampshire Grants**_

Staring at her reflection in the mirror, Ceara barely recognized herself. It wasn't just the soft upswept styling of her newly dried hair or even one of the new gowns Aaron insisted she have, quickly altered to fit her after only a day at the dressmaker's. Lifting tentative fingertips to her lips she slowly traced their contours, remembering the passionate press of his own upon them. Her attention shifted the slightly chafed skin over her chin where his unshaven face had unwittingly scraped it raw. Then, trailing her fingertips beneath her jaw and down her throat, she studied herself in the light of his fascinated gaze and teasing touch. Looking up into the reflection of her own eyes, she swallowed against a dry throat, tracing the path his fingertips had traced along the low neckline of the gown while she tried to imagine him doing that again. The memory of their last intimate encounter still caused her body to sing and her senses to crave his touch, so strongly that she gripped the edge of the washstand to steady herself against its power.

That had been two days ago, she reminded herself, just before they had crossed into the lands of New Hampshire, a place that had once been his home. Turning from the mirror she forced herself to forget the thrill of his lovemaking, now regrettably and puzzlingly replaced by an aloof and silent behavior she could not understand. Walking to the window, she lifted aside the sheer paneled curtain to stare down at the busy street, though she doubted she would catch a glimpse of him there. His last words to her warned that he would not return until late, and though she was frustrated and bored, she had to admit that his absence was somewhat of a relief.

Turning her head and scanning the titles of the few books provided to hotel guests, she reached for one and walked to the nearest chair, flopping down and opening the cover with uncharacteristic disinterest. After a few fruitless turns of the page she looked up, resting it back upon her lap to gaze again toward the window.

"Where _are_ you, Aaron?" she whispered, doubting the accuracy of his brusque announcement that he must keep several pre-arranged appointments and see to his own wardrobe, now waiting for him at the tailor shop he had failed to specify. She remembered him adding that he would be finishing up at the bank, and actually considered going there against his wishes just to satisfy her own curiosity.

"You're a grown woman," she told herself, rising and beginning to pace. "You have a right to go out and see the sights, or at least take some refreshment at the coffeehouse down the street," she lectured the tray which had been delivered to their room in his absence. Pouting, she wondered why her new husband would not take her out to dine.

"I love him, but he needn't be so mysterious," she complained, beginning to feel sorry for herself before correcting it. "At least not when he is on leave, and certainly not with me."

Facing the prospect of another few hours spent all alone she reached for her cloak, again gazing toward the window. "Enough of this!" she announced, reaching for her reticule. "What harm could a brisk walk do, on such a lovely day—"

Whirling around at the sound of the door opening she froze, caught in the interested gaze of the subject of her one-sided conversation. Several things did not escape her notice even as she held his rapidly disapproving glare: he had obviously known which tailor in town was the best, so impeccably well suited did he appear. Dressed in a dark brown greatcoat with matching breeches, brand new black leather boots, waistcoat belying a hint of golden embroidery, his starkly white shirt was simply ruffled at the cuffs and gathered tightly around the neck by a jet black satin stock. His hair had been trimmed and tied back, and even from the distance between them she caught a subtle scent of evergreen and wood from whatever shaving soap had been used upon him. Despite his stern countenance he looked so handsome that she found it difficult not to stare.

She heard the sound of his heel bump the door behind him, causing it to close magically. Silver glints sparkled in his eyes as he appraised her own attire with efficient and speedy inventory, ending at her defensive stare.

"You're early—" she accused, watching his eyes lower to her lips and shoot back up.

"I heard you talking—" he said at the same time, the curiosity in his expression long gone as his jaw tightened when he glanced pointedly at the cloak draped over her arm. His lips parted but he chose instead to stalk toward the bed and drop the many parcels in his arms there.

"I was just about to go for a walk," she stated regally, lifting her chin as his shoulders tensed beneath the fine fabric covering his broad shoulders. She saw his hands fist at his side before he turned to face her.

"I would rather you waited for me to escort you," he said in a low voice, the coldness in his eyes darting to the window.

Suddenly inspired, she shook out her cloak and smile in his direction. "Well now that you're here, why don't we see to—"

"I'd prefer you heed my wishes," he said, reaching her with two strides as he took the garment from her. Freezing as he circled his arms around her to unfurling the cloak over her shoulders, she swallowed as his hands drew the collar close and began to fasten it. The proximity of his touch made her heart pound as she gazed up into his downcast eyes.

"I was lonely," she said in a small voice, noting the pain that shot through his eyes before it was replaced with that awful coldness. "And bored."

"I regret leaving you alone," he said stiffly, finishing his work and dropping his hands to his sides. His gaze became cautionary. "It was unfortunately necessary."

Daring to lay a hand upon his chest, she watched his lips purse in disapproval. "Perhaps a night out might smooth over the offense," she suggested softly, trying not to stare at the masculine beauty of his lips.

After a split second of decision he jutted his elbow out and waited until she placed her hand there, tugging him toward the door as she decided her own course of action: to woo her husband back from his guarded reserve and stern treatment of her, whatever the cost.

"We have an early departure," he informed her, stepping aside to let her precede him out of the room.

"That is fine," she stated, glancing back over her shoulder as he secured the door. "I do fancy the plush comfort of our bed," she said sweetly.

His eyes shot down the corridor, which was thankfully empty, causing him to miss the hot blush creeping up her face from her own daring comment. But she was desperate, she reasoned as she led him toward the lobby of the hotel.

_Please, dear Lord,_ she prayed silently, _help me to rescue him from whatever demons torment him in this place…_

_**After one hour's walk they were sipping hot beverages and considering an early dinner, **_yet still much too reserved in each other's company. Ceara stole a covert glance at his profile over her cup, barely able to restrain herself from bursting forth with her objections and questions concerning his aloof manner. He was unfailing proper in keeping his distance from her, his manners impeccably keen and his gentlemanly reserve commendable—all the things which she hated most when comporting oneself in the arena of public society. He had shown her the sights of the city, explaining its history from the development of the textile, timber and salmon industries, describing its geography to the smallest detail. As they paused by the river connecting the mountains with the distant sea she compared his explanation of the spawning routes of migrating fish home to his own return to the place of his birth. Perhaps it was not as dramatic as their return to spawn and die, but she nevertheless worried for whatever troubled destiny awaited him in this place.

"I asked if you were ready to dine at the hotel," he repeated, snapping her gaze from the window past his shoulder to the silver-grey depths of his eyes. In the late afternoon sun she could see the darker shards of ebony flecking his eyes and abruptly switched her attention to the bottom of her cup.

"Might we dine here?" she hoped, preferring the warm hospitality of the coffee house to the formal dining room she'd only managed to glimpse within.

Apparently forgiving her daydreaming, he lifted his napkin and touched it to his lips, glancing toward the crowded walk beyond. "I'd prefer a more secluded place."

She set her cup down and turned for her wrap with a sigh. He rose and re-buttoned his coat as she rose to wrap herself in her cloak, not wanting him to do it for her. When he picked up her gloves and held them toward her she inwardly stuck out her tongue at the formality of their wear, yet met his waiting gaze with a sweet smile.

"Could you hold them for me?" she requested just as formally, noting his curt nod before he tossed their payment onto the table.

"Of course," he said tightly as she started for the door, suddenly eager to walk off her frustrations.

He caught up with her quickly, catching her arm and holding it politely as they navigated through the late day shopping crowd. Frustrated by his proper manner, she reached for his hand only to find it gloved. Squeezing it tightly, she longed for the touch of his skin upon hers.

"Slow down," he ordered softly, his eyes darting around them. Noting this, she sped up.

"Take off your glove," she ordered, hating the cool stares the fashionable crowd directed to her less than perfect length of stride.

"Why? What is wrong?" he asked in a low voice, clearly as frustrated with her as she was with him.

"Nothing!" she shot back, pulling his hand between hers and yanking at his glove until he removed it. With a tiny triumphant smile she threaded her fingers through his considerably warmer ones, holding his hand like a lifeline and praying he might feel the beat of her pulse even there.

"We can go back, if you prefer—"

"No, the hotel is fine," she said as serenely as she could manage. "It will be easier to retire early, at your _request_."

"Don't be upset," he pleaded quietly, squeezing her hand as they approached the hotel.

"I'm not upset," she lied, waiting while he opened the door for her before preceding him inside. He greeted the doorman as several heads turned in their direction, most of them women's. Their raised brows and lingering gazes upon his form did not escape her notice, and her anger began to boil over. She was sorely tempted to throw her arms around his neck and kiss him on the lips, right there in the lobby.

"May I help you, sir?" the dining room host greeted them at its entrance.

"A table for two, please," Aaron answered quietly, visibly relieved when they were escorted right in.

"You have your choice of tables, sir, at the earlier seating."

"The corner table, please," he indicated with a glance, gripping her arm as she stumbled in her new shoes. Their walk had apparently raised blisters which no longer could be ignored.

"Very well, sir," he said smoothly, leading the way without noticing her slight imbalance. He waited for their cloaks and turned to check them. "Your waiter should be along momentarily."

Ceara waited until he left their side before expelling a calming breath. She nudged the chair he had positioned for her closer to the table and studied the tense set of Aaron's jaw. He flung back his coat tails and sat down, leaning back and meeting her gaze with an impassive expression.

"You've not been yourself today," he accused softly, his eyes lit like molten silver.

"Nor have you," she shot back under her breath, "for _two_ days."

He surged forward, planting his arms along the edge of the table. "I had hoped you might try to understand—"

"It's impolite to rest one's arms upon the table," she corrected demurely, ignoring his darkening expression. When he jabbed one elbow deeper into the thick white tablecloth she felt like shouting for joy.

"_Forgive_ me," he said dryly, his gaze challenging as she copied his gesture. She felt her neckline slip dangerously low but lifted her chin.

"There is nothing to forgive," she said sweetly, lifting her water glass to her lips. Hiding a smile at the shift of his eyes to her bared skin, she took a long drink of water.

Suddenly his expression twisted with annoyance as he sat back, lifting his menu before him. Under the table she slid her foot from her right shoe and curled her toe into the ankle of his boot. He stiffened as she watched his eyes speed up over the list of entrees and avoided her waiting gaze.

"There isn't much of an assortment," he said, his voice a bit hoarse. As if he noted it himself, he lifted his own glass and sipped the water.

"I'm sure you'll find the best choice," she mused, shifting her chair closer and reaching for his hand. When she stroked her thumb over his knuckle his eyes shot to hers. To her relief she read a hint of desire hidden within all his formality and reserve, yet he gently withdrew his hand.

"I've missed you," she whispered to him just before the waiter arrived.

"Good evening, sir," a voice soothed, causing her to smile up at the elderly man. "Would you care to order now, or prefer more time?"

Aaron snapped the menu shut and laid it aside. "We'll have the sole almandine—"

"I'd like the salmon," Ceara interjected, watching the man's worried frown shift to Aaron. Apparently _ladies_ didn't place their own orders, she realized with delight. "And no starches, please," she added daintily, "just vegetables—"

"We'll have a salade first," Aaron ordered, his gaze sweeping the room. To his obvious regret other people began entering the dining room, but his attention returned to her in challenge while she sat back, draping her napkin over her lap.

"Anything to drink?" the waiter asked politely as he finished writing their order.

"Your best white wine—"

"Herb tea," she said at the same time.

Aaron frowned but nodded to the waiter. "We are pressed for time."

The waiter smiled with relief. "Yes sir, right away," he replied, taking back their menus before he abruptly left.

She leaned toward him again, placing her hand upon his wrist though he glanced disapprovingly at it.

"I thought it might save time if I ordered for myself," she explained, stroking his forearm only enough so that he alone would notice. He leaned back and averted his gaze as another couple was seated a few tables away.

"Fine," he said brusquely, a nerve jumping in his cheek.

"I believe this was a good choice, after all," she sighed, lifting a hand to tuck up a strand of hair that had fallen to her shoulder.

His eyes shot to hers, not missing the gesture. She thought she saw longing in their depths, and waited until he looked back at her. "You look especially lovely today," he said a bit less formally.

She smiled brightly, switching her hand from his wrist to her lap. "Why thank you, sir."

"Forgive me for not mentioning it earlier," he added, his gaze dropping to the necklace he'd left for her on the bureau top. Its length dropped to rest at the curve of her breasts and sparkled in the dim lighting. As if realizing this quite suddenly, he snapped his attention back to her eyes. "The color suits you as well."

She leaned toward him again, toying with her butter knife. "I could have told you earlier how handsome and tempting _you_ look," she said softly, noting his sidelong glance to see if she'd been overheard, "but I thought I might offend you."

The look that he shot her pierced her in warning as he pursed his lips.

The waiter returned with her tea and a small decanter of wine. Into the silence between them he placed it at the center of the able, setting two wineglasses at their places. Aaron thanked him as he unfurled his napkin with a crisp snap before dropping it over his thigh. The waiter poured wine for both of them as she stirred her tea. When he left Aaron lifted his glass to his lips and drained a third of its contents.

The couple closest to them finally broke from gazing into each other's eyes and glanced in their direction. The man nodded to Aaron, who nodded back, while the woman smiled at Ceara.

"We are celebrating our 25th anniversary," she said quietly to Ceara, who smiled and nodded.

"Congratulations," Aaron said stiffly, staring back into his wine glass.

Wilting inwardly Ceara saw the woman's confused glance but the waiter stepped between them to take their order, giving them reprieve. Gazing at her own husband's profile, she found she could not envision them at the same point in their life. Her eyes flooded uncharacteristically as she lifted her cup to her lips and sipped it at length, avoiding the weight of Aaron's regard.

"Perhaps we might start over," he quietly suggested, but when she looked up in surprise his expression was stern, belying the soft timbre in his voice.

Setting aside her teacup she reached for her wineglass and touched it to his, downing the same amount he had and trying not to cough when she set it back down. It was stronger than she'd imagined, mixing strangely with the hot tea. He glanced away, missing her forced smile.

"An excellent suggestion," she answered, leaning closer to place her hand upon his knee beneath the cover of the table.

He fisted his hand upon the table, directing a glare in her direction, but when another server placed their salads before them he glanced away. Ceara picked up her fork and stabbed it into the first course, relieved when he did the same. They ate with gusto and in silence, avoiding looking at the couple to their side. She was grateful for the three empty tables separating them, affording them a bit more privacy which by now she decided they sorely needed.

Aaron set aside his fork and leaned back with a frustrated sigh, waiting until she looked up and swallowed her lettuce leaf. "If you take objection to my behavior these past two days," he began in a lowered voice, "we could discuss it in a rational manner."

She stared at the way he curled his fingers around the stem of his wineglass before lifting it to his lips.

"All right," she agreed. "I have to admit I am dying of curiosity."

He set down his glass, his eyes dark. "Not here," he corrected, glancing toward the party of five entering the room.

"Why not—too concerned about a breach in our personal security?" she spat in a whisper, following his covert assessment of the other guests.

He shot her another warning look but one corner of his mouth lifted slightly. "You might say that."

"Really, right here in your own home town?" she breathed doubtfully, lifting her wineglass to take a sip.

He looked away. "This is not my home town."

Staring at him incredulously, she set down her glass. "Then what are we doing here?"

He reached into the breast pocket of his jacket, glancing up at her. "Settling some business matters which demand prompt attention," he answered, reinserting whatever he had checked to see was safely hidden there.

She smiled genuinely. "Then we can leave, if you're finished."

"In the morning," he said, relaxing back against the cushioned seat, "after one more meeting."

She shook her head. "I don't understand...the tour you gave me, all the places you took me."

"As I said, we are only here for business matters."

She tugged at the satiny material sliding off her shoulder. "'Business'…then why am I dressed like this?"

His eyes dropped to the offending shoulder strap before he met her waiting gaze, and when she evaluated it she knew she was breaking through the icy reserve that had encased him since their arrival.

"Practice, for the real homecoming," he drawled, leaning forward to refill her wine glass.

She leaned toward him again, absently pulling up her neckline. "How bad can it be?" she whispered, watching his eyes lower to her bared skin before she straightened.

"Oh, quite bad," he choked, settling back and glancing up at the approaching waiter. "Which I am certain you will see for yourself."

Choosing to delay the bad report she sensed he was about to share, she ate with him in momentary silence, reevaluating their situation based not upon the present or future, but upon their past. By now she knew him better than she could explain, sensing that the suffering he had endured in battle was nothing compared to that of his past. Now that he was apparently forced to return to settle it, she looked at his cool reserve and banked anger in quite a new light. The pain in him was surfacing, and she had to let him know she was here to support him in whatever he must face. She was his wife and together they were about to meet his family after whatever rift had kept him away all these years.

_He needs to be distracted… _she thought, studying him covertly as he ate, obviously tasting none of the meal so elegantly presented. Discerning the dark grip of the past tightening around him, she dared to press her toes inside ankle, all the while resenting the boots covering his skin while she teased that sensitive spot.

_Give me my husband back_, she demanded whatever dark spirits tormented him, robbing her of the real Aaron.

His eyes shot to hers and she recognized the moment when he remembered sleeping with their limbs entwined not many days before. She watched his attention slide lower to her lips while making a conscious effort to lick the sheen of butter lingering there from her steamed vegetables. Darting the tip of her tongue out to emphasize her point, she felt a shiver of excitement travel down her neck as he looked away, crooking a finger into the tight knot of his stock in an attempt to loosen it.

Fanning herself, she shrugged her shoulders until the fabric slipped dangerously low, catching his attention once again. He held her teasing smile for a moment, swallowed and looked away, motioning to the waiter. She had since lost her appetite for food but in their remaining moments here used each item on her plate as a prop to tempt him. The staff was busy and their waiter delayed, but judging by his lingering, heated gaze toward her every bite, she knew she was succeeding.

With a tiny smile of triumph as his soft tortured groan she gazed around the room, finding the woman celebrating her anniversary staring at her with a bemused smile. The woman leaned toward her husband and said just loud enough for them to overhear:

"Look how in love that young couple is, dear," she sighed dreamily, her words startling Aaron but not enough for him to tear his attention away from setting out the payment for their meal, plus a generous tip.

"They'll be just like us someday," the man agreed, at which point Aaron shot to his feet and came to her side.

"Time to leave," he said under his breath, holding her surprised gaze as she finished toying with the corner of lips with her napkin. He grasped the top of her chair as she complied, sliding it away and taking her arm in a tight grip. Having forgotten her missing shoe she stumbled slightly, grabbing the front of his waistcoat as his indrawn breath hissed out in protest.

"My shoe," she exclaimed halfway between horror and laughter. Steadying her by gripping her waist while she felt for her shoe, he supported her until she stepped back into it and nodded her thanks.

"Good night," the couple called to them wearing knowing smiles of understanding as they passed by.

He propelled her from the room, across the main lobby and into the corridor leading to their room. She felt his hand tighten at her waist and gripped his arm in an effort to keep up with him, half afraid and half exhilarated at having prompted any response from him, just to banish that cool polite manner she refused to accept from him.

He joggled the key and unlocked the room, pushing open the door and propelling her inside. With one hand he slammed it shut, then grasped her elbows and pushed her back against it. Slipping his arms around her he fastened his mouth over hers and kissed her greedily, pressing against her in desperation as she gasped with joy. Gripping his shoulders she kissed him back, answering the pent up desire in him with her own hunger. He groaned and pulled her up into his embrace, and she felt the hard press of the door replaced with the expert stroke of his hand down her back.

She cradled his head between her hands, climbing higher in his arms. "I'm sorry," she gasped, stroking his lips with her fingertips. "I didn't mean to anger you—"

He kissed her hard, sliding his hand between them. "You make me lose my mind," he breathed against her lips, his hand caressing her before he lifted it and threaded his fingers into her hair to take it down. She heard the pins drop and scatter along the floor while she twisted her fingers into the knot at his throat.

"I need you, Aaron," she whispered, tugging the fabric away to expose the muscular column of his neck, where she planted nibbling kisses.

He pulled her up for a deep, drugging kiss while his hand slipped her gown off one shoulder. He broke away to tease her lips with one fingertip, his breath panting against her cheek. "You taste sweeter than wine," he said thickly.

"Don't leave me again," she warned, rising on her toes to kiss his lips while she spread the top of his shirt open, frustrated by his still fastened waistcoat. "Or you'll have worse rebellion than today's."

"I only left you a few hours," he protested, gasping at the touch of her lips and fingers upon his chest.

She lifted her head to kiss the slight cleft in his chin. "I meant in your mind," she clarified, feeling his arms shift beneath her as he lifted and turned her, stalking toward the bed.

"You always know," he marveled, setting her upon the high mattress and sliding his hands up her thighs to step closer. "I never have to explain—"

"Shhh," she whispered, tugging down his lower lip and kissing him. Her hem rose up between them as he slid over her and settled them in place. "Don't think about anything beyond this moment," she pleaded, sliding his shirt up as she caressed his bare back.

He slid his hands beneath her and lifted her toward the pillows, kissing her as his hands shifted the pillow beneath her head. She pulled at his shoulders until he struggled out of his shirt, cradling him in her arms as he buried his face in her softness, breathing deeply of her fragrance. And that was their last coherent thought for quite some time.

_c. 2008 by Christine Levitt _


	21. Chapter 21 The Homecoming

Chapter 21 The Homecoming

_**Chapter 21 The Homecoming**_

Feeling Aaron's hand at her elbow she stepped back onto the cobbled walk, watching the driver unlash their bags from the roof compartment. One covert glance in her husband's direction revealed the firm set of his jaw in profile, for he was gazing up the street in what must be the direction of his home. Breathing a sigh that was partly relief and partly exhaustion, she nevertheless welcomed the walk to which he had alluded in their muttered conversation upon arrival. She felt stiff all over and the musty air in the crowded coach left her eager for fresh air and the chance to stretch her legs. And, judging by Aaron's somber mood, they needed the extra time to ready themselves for whatever awaited them once they reached it.

Wincing at the loud smack with which their worldly possessions hit the frozen ground, she met his gaze. His lips were pursed in frustration as he headed to retrieve their bags. She frowned at the driver's snort of apology as he climbed back up, yanked the brake off and called gruffly to his team to be off. The coach lurched into motion, leaving them with a spray of slushy snow and mud which splattered Aaron's boots and dampened the hem of her gown. With an unladylike protest she yanked up her hem and backed into the solid wall of Aaron's chest, turning to glance up at him in apology.

He pressed a steadying hand to the back of her waist, his eyes firing with silvery light as he gazed down at her. His eyes shifted from hers to the blush creeping over her cheeks, caused by his heated regard. Turning slowly, she placed her palm over his stomach and rose to the toes of her boots. At the same time he bent his head and met her kiss, one which was partially shielded by his hat but unrepentantly public. Closing her eyes at the power of even a gentle kiss from him, she slipped her other hand beneath his coat and caressed his back. For some odd reason neither of them seemed to care that they stood thus in broad daylight right on the street, but when he began to pull away she lowered herself to the ground. He straightened, his eyes burning even brighter and chasing away the chill of the wintry day. As he slowly bent to pick up her bag he was so close she could feel the warmth of his breath upon her cheek.

"Are you all right?" he paused to ask, his attention focused upon her lips.

She smiled, sliding the hand at his back around to his stomach. "Are you?"

His gaze lifted to narrow upon hers, as if doubting the implication of her words. "It _is _a relief to be off that coach," he said hesitantly.

Ecstatic to discover he knew she'd referred to their kiss and not their journey, she slid her hand up his chest and rested it over his heart. The tension in him was obvious, and she doubted that he'd closed his eyes once the entire trip. She on the other hand had fallen asleep pressed against his side in the crowded coach, comforted by the solid warmth of his body and the thud of that heartbeat.

"There were some pleasurable aspects to the journey," she hinted, noting how understanding lit his eyes.

He cleared his throat and shot a glance up the hill. "We should be off," he said huskily.

Taking his arm, she fell into step with him, though his steps were much wider apart than hers. "How far is it?" she asked, reaching to take her bag from his grasp. He shook his head and retained it. Off in the distance she could see stately homes atop the hilly terrain, each separated from the other by iron gatework, no doubt delineating the better part of town.

"Not far," he sighed, diverting his attention to the opposite side of the street as if he longed to head in the opposite direction.

She crossed her arms over her cloak to shield herself from the stiff breeze pressing against them. After a few moments of prolonged silence she gazed up at his profile, praying that the gloom of his mood might somehow lift.

"If there is anything I might do to make the transition easier," she offered, "just ask."

"You already have," he stated, looking into her eyes, "just by coming with me."

She sighed in frustration. "No really, Aaron, I wish to help. Whatever you advise, I will take it under earnest consideration."

"If only I knew how, I would."

Marching with more determined steps she knew the instant that he realized how fast she had to walk just to keep up with him. Immediately slowing his pace, he nodded apologetically.

"And I _will _do my best to keep my lips sealed, even should things prove strained," she vowed.

A ghost of a smile played about his lips. "Really," he breathed, "…that is quite a sacrifice—pray that is not sorely tested."

She grinned mischievously. "I am _not _saying that if the need arises for some objection or protest, I would fail to provide one."

He laughed softly. "Now I almost look forward to that happening."

She hugged his arm as they hiked harder uphill. "Then I would be happy to oblige, Mr. Green."

His smile faded as he directed his attention forward yet again. "Greenberg," he corrected softly. "And may we both remember to use the proper name."

"I'm sorry—I forgot," she said, biting her lower lip and staring up at his profile. "Really Aaron, I don't know how you manage, changing names and personalities, even this King's English you are now employing."

"Practice," he stated, looking down at her. "Though I have every confidence you will prove adept at role playing, as unfortunate a necessity as that may be."

"Well your tutelage has been masterful," she argued, aware of the need for both of them to keep their voices low. "I am quite prepared to share the _alternate _account of the circumstances of our meeting and marriage, should the opportunity arise."

He chuckled softly. "I'm sure you are."

"Surely you know that as your wife, I am eager to help in any way."

He gazed at her in challenge. "_Any_ way?" he whispered suggestively, his lips curling toward a smile.

Smiling despite the hated blush she felt spreading over her cheeks, she focused her attention upon the hard beauty of his sculptured lips. "Of course—our marriage remains of utmost importance."

"I'm relieved," he sighed, shaking his head good naturedly. "For a moment I thought your interests in playacting might outweigh those of marriage."

"Were I married to anyone but you, sir, that could very well be the case," she said saucily.

He bowed in response, slowing his steps as his expression sobered. Gazing up at the towering edifice beneath which they stood, he frowned. "This is it."

She gazed up at the wide expanse of what could only be called a mansion, one of the grandest she'd ever seen. Its exterior was dark gray and foreboding, its entrance guarded by twin granite columns beyond which extended two wings, each containing what appeared to be three levels. Its façade was somewhat softened by a generous arrangement of expertly manicured trees and shrubs. The only reassuring aspects were its countless windows and balconies, alleviating the sense of its prison-like stature. As they neared the main walk Aaron passed it by, continuing at a faster pace so that she had to nearly run to keep up. Eyeing the next break ahead, she noted the drive which led from it up to a side entrance. This he approached and stopped by, opening the gate and standing aside as she entered. He latched it behind them before continuing on. As they drew nearer she saw a nerve jump above his tightly clenched jaw.

"Even if you are truly the son of the cook or the stableman, I will love you just as completely," she told him just above a whisper.

He choked back a laugh, lowering his chin as if to hide his amusement beneath his hat. "I have often wished that myself."

She pouted. "Then you're not?"

He glanced up, his expression amused. "You seem disappointed."

"I am, especially after seeing such obvious wealth—I'm not sure that even _my_ imagination could elicit a performance convincing enough to narrow the vast gulf separating our backgrounds."

"It's not what you think—I'm not noble at al—"

"Of course you are!" she hissed, her stomach knotting with tension as they approached the side entrance. "Your taking the servants' entrance fools no one."

"I've always entered here," he huffed, reaching for the latch and slowly opening the door. They pressed together to listen, but heard nothing. He glanced down and nodded before leading the way.

They were immediately enveloped in warmth as well as the enticing aromas of cooking—baking bread, apples and cinnamon, roasting potatoes and a meaty sauce smell. Aaron set their bags in a corner of the mudroom to their right while she studied the rows of boots and shoes in all sizes and conditions. Coats, cloaks and jackets hung over hooks upon the wall, and as they slowly made their way down the hall she stared in disbelief at the vast kitchen opening up before her eyes.

There were many counters and sinks, not to mention work tables and a giant hearth. Bubbling over the fire was a large black pot which bubbled and hissed, its fragrance sweet and spicy as if emanating from a hearty soup. Her stomach growled but Aaron did not seem to notice, so intent was he upon sweeping the room with a hawk-like gaze she'd never seen before. Wondering what was going through his mind, she decided against breaking their silence and risking being found out. Though she felt like a burglar he tugged her hand and she followed him out into another corridor. This one was just as empty, as were the rooms opening from it.

"Where is everyon—" she whispered as he raised a finger to his lips, waiting until she nodded.

He led them down its vast length, despite its darkening light and narrowing confines. She remembered the tunnel and prayed that he would not experience any additional torment even here. Thankfully there were windows here and there, but they were smudged with long forgotten fingerprints and cobwebs. He released her hand and she rested it upon his back, staying closely behind him. The few times he glanced back at her she discerned the change in him, analyzing his behavior. Then it occurred to her what the problem was.

_He's on another mission,_ she realized, wondering why his coming home demanded he revert to his role of soldier instead of returning son. Not approving their entering his home in such a manner, she nevertheless trusted him to do the right thing.

Having come to a neglected staircase they began to creep up its narrow, steep stairs, the top of which she could not see. It was draughty and dusty, making her wonder again about his fear of tunnels and confined spaces. Trying to distract herself from her own fears, she tried to envision him sneaking her into a private room and keeping her locked up, hiding her away until he battled whatever enemies that surrounded this place. Loving him for his desire to protect her, she nevertheless worried about how his return would be met.

_What are you hiding, Aaron? _she asked his broad back, sliding her hand up to his shoulder in an encouraging caress.

He stopped abruptly on the landing and pulled her into his arms, kissing her in sudden hunger and desperation. Momentarily stunned, she forced herself to move and cradled his head between her hands, kissing him back with as much love and need as she could communicate. They had arrived at this level panting from the climb, now breathless with love and passion. He wound his hand into her hair and gently pulled it down, kissing her with such intensity she feared it might somehow be the last time they would ever do so. After some time he groaned softly and fell back against the wall, his arm steadying them both. Dropping his head back, he tensed while she kissed the column of his throat, tightening his arms around her. When she tugged at his shirt he cupped the back of her head and kissed her fervently until she fell still against him.

"You tolerate the worst treatment from me," he derided himself, closing his eyes and resting his forehead against hers.

"I love you," she whispered, kissing his lips with fascinated interest, "and I have to admit that though this is quite scandalous, I find it exciting."

He swallowed a laugh and pulled her head beneath his chin. As she wrapped her arms around his waist he sat down, taking her onto his lap.

"Where did I ever find you?" he whispered, tracing her lips with the tip of one finger.

"I found you," she whispered back, dropping her head to his shoulder.

He nodded, leaning his head back against the wall once again. They sat that way, listening to the howl of the wind over their heads.

"Is this your room?" she whispered, toying with the edge of his collar.

He shook with laughter, tightening his hands around her waist. "What if I said yes?"

"I'd suggest another hotel room."

"Good idea," he sighed, glancing up at the door just above them which no doubt led into a main corridor inside the house. "In fact, why don't we just leave and find one?"

She shook her head. "We're both too tired—and you have to face them sooner or later."

"They're not home."

"How do you know?"

"I just know."

"Then why don't we go find your staff and get set—"

"Shhh," he breathed, tensing as they heard a door close just above them. She rose with him and they crept up to the landing, where he pressed his ear against the door separating them from the others.

"It's got to stop!" a man's voice croaked. "I'm taking matters into my own hands!"

Aaron tensed, bracing his arm around her shoulders as they eavesdropped.

"But the master said we'd be fired!" an older woman hissed in warning. "And he might show up at any moment!"

"I'm going for Dr. Kimball instead—"

"He only lets Dr. Stevens examine her—"

"They're in it together, I swear," the man insisted, trying to contain himself to a whisper. "Since he started treating her she's only gotten worse!"

"If only Master Aaron were here—then we'd have hope…"

Ceara glanced up at Aaron, who nodded. He pushed on the door and opened it, and light flooded into the dim passageway, hurting her eyes. She heard the indrawn breath of the two older servants, eventually focusing upon their frightened, amazed expressions.

"What's happened to my mother, Bennett?" Aaron demanded, gripping Ceara's hand and pulling her to his side.

She wound her arm around his waist and stood pressed up against him for support as they found themselves the continued study of two open mouthed staff.

"It cannot be," the man croaked, stumbling as the much shorter but plumper woman gripped his arm.

"Praise be, it _is_ him!" she gasped, rooted to her place beneath the small chandelier that lit the hall.

Ceara smiled at them as they rushed toward them, watching as the woman threw her arms around Aaron. The man gaped at him, his lined face lit with a hopeful expression.

"It _is _you, sir," he said in awe, his sharp eye upon Aaron as he stepped from the woman's embrace to shake his hand. "After all this time…"

"She needs you," the woman cooed, "and at long last, you're back."

"Why is she ill?" Aaron asked quietly.

"She had an attack just two days ago, but once she sees you she'll recover," the woman nodded, her gaze resting upon Ceara. "I'm Harriet—but who are you, little lady?"

"This is Ceara," Aaron said, his gaze apologetic as he eased her forward. "My wife."

"Wife?" both servants whispered, their expressions a mixture of joy and fear. "Does _he_ know?"

"He will soon enough," Aaron said, turning to the man.

Ceara swallowed at the foreboding tone of their voices, wondering what kind of encounter they might share.

"Bennett, if my mother needs a different doctor then go fetch one," her husband instructed in a masterly tone. "I will take full responsibility."

"God is good," the man muttered, nodding to Ceara as he rushed down the stairs. "I'll return be as fast as I can."

Ceara bit her lower lip to hide her amusement at the elderly man, noting how he ran with sudden agility down the staircase. Her eyes went to Aaron as Harriet hugged her.

"Where'd you go and find such a pretty wife, sir?" she wanted to know.

Ceara met his gaze and smiled weakly.

"She found me," he said softly, his eyes lit with a combination of anxiety and warmth.

"I'm pleased to meet you, Miss Harriet," Ceara said, shaking her hand.

"You must meet the Missus," Harriet insisted, looking up at Aaron. "When she sees you and Ceara she will surely recover."

He nodded. "Let's hope so—Ceara?"

She took his outstretched hand and followed him down the hall, glancing back to see the woman standing gazing fondly after them. She was nodding and mouthing the word "wife" it seemed.

_**Aaron slowly opened the door to his mother's suite, **_astounded by the stale odor and murky darkness which greeted them. Tightening his grip on Ceara's hand, he walked toward the bed, stopping at the foot to stare down at the frail looking figure lying upon it and finally deciding it must be his mother.

_Five years,_ he tallied quickly, guilt piercing his heart at the number of years since he'd last seen her and devastated by what they had apparently done to her. How strange that she of all people should be lying abed in the middle of the day, something he'd never seen her do except only upon the rarest of occasions. Worse, her eyes remained closed despite their entrance, her breathing barely discernible. He studied the veins in her pale skin, the bluish tint beneath her eyes and the sunken cheekbones of her once lovely face. Beneath her nightcap her hair had somehow grown white and was considerably thinner. The hand atop the blanket covering her from the shoulders down lay immobile. Lowering himself to sit upon the edge of the mattress, he reached for and found it cold. Her stillness brought an unexpected flood of tears to his eyes and he dropped his head in dejection.

Ceara's hand gripped his shoulder as he remembered this cold hand once ruffling his hair when he was a boy. It had purposefully laced his vests, doctored his cuts and guided his fingers over the keys of their old piano. He heard the distant echo of her laughter and her voice calling his name. Shuddering with the sudden sensation of death entering the room, he lifted his head at Ceara's soft gasp, as if she too sensed its presence. Accustomed to its sinister presence from years of battle and torture, he could not reconcile its overshadowing his own mother here in her bedroom. He felt shaken to the core and eerily unsettled. Ceara began to whisper something under her breath and he was overwhelming comforted by her being a woman of faith and prayer as well. Nevertheless he choked back a sob.

"Mother—," he croaked, longing for some sign of her stirring. "It's Aaron…I've come back to see you."

There was no response, yet he continued to wait, watching her carefully. "I'm sorry…I've not come for so long."

He glanced up at Ceara, who tore her gaze away from his mother's face to meet his. "May I look at her medications?" she whispered, and when he nodded she stepped away.

"I have some time off," he went on, though he doubted the effort would produce anything. She looked too weak, almost as if she were awaiting death. What despair gripped her, he wondered, despite his knowledge of her situation. She had always seemed to manage even that. "I want you to meet Ceara, Mother—she's my wife."

Their gazes met and she smiled, her fingers sliding around the small vial she held. He lifted his brows to prompt the opinion she obviously wanted to share. Glancing at his mother with a frown, she met his gaze once again.

"I'm not sure she should be taking this," she whispered to him, holding up the vial.

He slowly trailed his fingertips over his mother's cold knuckles, shaking his head. "What else do they have her on?" he whispered back.

She held up a hand before continuing to examine each label, having moved on to the tins. He he leaned closer to his mother.

"I've finally married, Mother," he reminded her, remembering all their arguments over the past few years. "Open your eyes and meet Ceara, Mother…We've traveled some distance to see you…"

Whether it was a sigh or a gust of wind he could not tell, but as he studied her lids he thought he saw something move. Glancing up at Ceara, he found her distracted by her inventory.

"You will like her very much," he continued, hoping the conversation might pull her from whatever depths wherein she drifted. "She's got beautiful blue eyes, and black hair…she is very intelligent but engaging," he smiled weakly, waiting for his wife's attention, which he found came soon enough. "She's not at all the simpering type…if you remember, you will know to what I refer when you open your eyes."

Ceara put down the last of the vials and glanced at him, then bent to gently stroke his mother's hair. "Mrs. Greenberg—" she said, her eyes shooting back to Aaron when she realized her mistake.

As she did Aaron felt a twitch in his mother's hand. His attention shot back to her, and as he studied her intently he saw her lids move.

"I'm sorry, I forgot you've remarried," Ceara tried to explain.

They heard a whoosh of air and the patient's eyes slowly opened, blinking even at the dim light. Aaron gripped her hand, nearly shouting for joy. He nodded to Ceara, who gently stroked her temple and kept talking at his bidding.

"When I first met Aaron, I thought he was the most stubborn, intelligent and handsome man I'd ever seen—"

"Aaah-ron!" his mother breathed, holding her eyes open as she gazed up at him. Squinting, she turned her hand in his, weakly smoothing her thumb over his.

"It's me, Mother," he encouraged, smiling for joy.

"You've come…" she sighed, her expression brightening.

"Yes, Mother," he choked, leaning close to cup her cheek in his palm. "I've come to see you—

forgive me for waiting so long."

"You're…war."

"Not now, Mother—I want to introduce you to Ceara, my wife—"

"Wife!" she gasped, pulling her hand from his to cough into it. She tried to turn her head toward Ceara, who reached for a glass of water and held it for her.

"Just take a sip," she encouraged, touching the glass to her lips.

She took two sips and rested back, her eyes lowering from Ceara's face to return to Aaron's. "Where—"

"Shhh," he encouraged. "We're here now, and will take care of you."

"Now rest," Ceara said softly, glancing at Aaron as she put the glass back upon the table.

"I'll sit with you until you go to sleep—" he offered.

"No!" she sighed, closing her eyes but grasping his hand. "Don't leave…"

"We're here to stay, Mother," he assured her, nodding in thanks as Ceara moved a chair close to the bed for him. "If you need anything, anything at all, let me know—"

"Stay…" she breathed, calming considerably.

"Whatever you want," he reminded her gently. "Just let me know."

She motioned weakly, so he leaned closer, listening for her request. "Baaab," she sighed, a smile curving her lips while her eyes remained closed.

Aaron leaned closer, gripping her hand. "What was that, Mother? Anything, just say it."

"Ba-by," she sighed, relaxing back toward sleep.

Aaron stiffened, glancing up at Ceara, who hid a smile behind her hand. She was blushing furiously. He gazed back down at his mother in consternation.

"You want a _baby_?"

206


	22. Chapter 22 The Master

_**Chapter 22 The Master**_

_**They spent the dinner hour spooning broth into his mother, **_dining themselves and keeping an attentive ear for any sound of the master of the house's return. When Sylvie came to clear away their dishes her face lit with pleasure to see her missus half sitting up and more alert than she had been in weeks.

"'Tis a miracle," she pronounced, her eyes fastened upon Aaron's mother. "You've made quite a recovery, Mum—if I may say."

"You may, Sylvie," his mother sighed, resting her head back against the wall of pillows behind her. "I credit the Good Lord for sending these two and reviving me."

"I'm sure you're right," the middle aged woman said with a slight curtsy, turning to study Aaron as directly as she dared. "You are all she's thought about for weeks, Sir."

He nodded, rising to place the used dishes upon the tray. "Thank you for serving us up here," he said sincerely.

"Make up the guest suite for them," his mother asked; "the gray room."

"Yes, Mum, we'd be happy to," she said, curtsying to Ceara.

"I'd like our bags left packed, please," Aaron stated, walking toward the window to gaze out into the dark. He missed the glances exchanged between servant and mistress, Ceara noted with interest.

"Their stay is to be a private matter, Sylvie," his mother requested. "Not even the Master is to know."

"Yes, Mum."

Aaron glanced at her over his shoulder. "I'm not afraid of him, Mother."

"I know—it's just that I prefer we spend time together without interruption."

Aaron strolled toward her and stood with his hands in his pockets. "I intend to have a word with him concerning your health."

Ceara saw the fear ignite in her expression. "No, son, please—"

"I will handle it, Mother—I don't want you getting involved."

"I _am_ involved—"

"You're not strong enough; besides that, I have a plan in mind."

"If you'd like, Sir, the staff will try our best to warn you of his return," she said, hoisting the tray. At his nod of approval she went to the door, where Ceara opened it for her. She thanked her in a whisper and exited the suite.

Ceara closed the door and came to stand at the foot of his mother's bed. Aaron studied her worried frown. "What do you think?"

Ceara looked at his mother apologetically. "I'm afraid you're too weak for any excitement," she answered. "It is very good that you were able to eat something, but you need a good deal of rest."

"And Dr. Kimball concurs," Aaron added, leaning over to draw her blankets to her shoulders. "In the meantime I've requested of Bennett that your husband be kept out of your room, whatever it takes."

"That won't be necessary, dear," she sighed. "William is absorbed in his investments and Alberta's company."

Aaron shot her piercing glare and Ceara watched their eyes hold. "_Alberta?_"

"Yes," she informed him, glancing nervously toward Ceara. "They spend a great deal of time together, of late."

"Mother—"

"She has a very good sense of business—"

"—if there is something I should know, I wish you would tell me."

His mother looked from Ceara's puzzled smile to Aaron's forbidding scowl. "Now darling, you needn't concern yourself, and your poor wife is looking puzzled."

"If that woman has been coming here—"

"I beg you," his mother pleaded, closing her eyes and waving a hand of dismissal.

Aaron ran a hand through his hair and looked at Ceara. "Mother and I must discuss something in private, if you don't mind stepping out—?"

"Of course," she breathed, noting his mother's paler skin as she went to the door. Pausing with her hand on the knob she glanced back at him. "Which room is to be ours?"

"The suite at the end of this corridor, on the left," he informed her. "I can ring for Sylvie to come for you—"

"No, please—stay with your mother. I've some things I must unpack," she said, glancing to his mother again. "I'm so happy you're feeling better, Mum."

"Please, call me Mother, or Florence if you'd like," she answered, her gaze clear despite her weariness. "Thank you for all your help, Ceara; I regret greeting you in this condition."

"Please, don't feel that way," Ceara reassured her. "I am a nurse, and well accustomed to it."

"Judging by how well my son looks, you are very gifted in your work."

"Yes, she is," Aaron said carefully, his expression somewhat aloof.

"Well, I really do need to freshen up," she said to excuse herself.

"If you need anything just pull the bell cord to call the staff," he said, his eyes already pinning his mother.

When the door closed behind her he sat upon the edge of the bed and took his mother's hand. "What has really been going on here?" he asked quietly.

"I wanted to spare your wife the shock," she complained, her eyes fluid. "...whatever must she think of us?"

"Why would Alberta come here?" he said, getting right to the point. "You wrote that she had a rich husband and was living in Portsmouth."

"He was 72 when they married," she sighed; "she's been a widow for a year already."

He pursed his lips. "And now she has her sights set on yours."

When she did not answer he got up and stalked to the window, massaging the back of his neck in an effort to relieve some of the tension there. "Well?" he asked the stormy landscape spread below his view.

"I'm afraid she has…unless she's biding her time waiting for _you_."

_**Two hours later there was a deafening crash from below, **_startling Ceara from her calming soak in the tub brought up for her. Gripping its edge in alarm, she listened intently to the voices shouting at least two levels below. One of them was Aaron's. Reaching for her towel, she rose and wrapped it around her, stepping out to quickly dry herself off. Trying not to panic, she lifted the oversized robe from the vanity chair and slipped her arms inside it. Binding her wet hair with a towel she heard something being overturned and rushed through the bedchamber to the door, leaning an ear against it in an attempt to discern what was being shouted. After a few moments she determined the argument to be centered around his mother's condition, yet from the sound of the older voice the preferred subject seemed to be Aaron's unexpected return and interference.

Suddenly realizing what she was doing, she straightened and planted her hands upon her hips. "It's none of my business," she said aloud, turning to go to the blazing fire and warm herself. Afraid that they might be thrown out she unraveled her hair and began to finger comb it to speed its drying. She would need to dress as quickly as possible, just in case.

The shouting grew somewhat more subdued, yet she prayed for whatever was being discussed to be resolved as amicably as possible. She thought glumly of her long soak in the tub to calm and soothe herself, now a distant memory. Her muscles were sore from the jolting of the coach and the drive here had been delayed several times. Feeling heavy with exhaustion, she was still strangely attuned to Aaron's needs and longed to see him walk through the door. This was not going well, that was obvious, yet she was confident that if they could stay close through this difficult time they would find it possible to improve the situation. But he needed his rest, and she wondered how long he would be detained belowstairs.

For some reason her thoughts kept returning to the staircase by which they had sneaked in, and what had happened between them there. Her body felt alive at just the memory of his kiss and touch, and she was overcome with wanting him in a way no proper wife or lady should even entertain. Still, she could not seem to help it.

"I love him so much," she whispered, lifting damp strands of her hair toward the fire. She could almost feel his hands doing the same thing, and shivered at the memory of his breath traveling along the sensitive area beneath her ear to her shoulder, his indrawn breath drinking in the clean fragrance of her hair.

Catching herself, she realized how selfish she was being, dreaming of lying in his arms. He was just a few floors beneath her struggling with whatever demons haunted this place, and here she was thinking only of herself.

"Forgive me," she prayed in a whisper, jumping at the sound of renewed shouting, this time much louder and from what sounded like just down the corridor.

"You have your nerve, coming here after five years' time," a powerful voice mocked, "involving yourself with matters which are frankly none of your business—"

"When it concerns my _mother_ it is my business!"

"Not any longer, Aaron!"

"I will do whatever it takes to see her recover from your treatment!" Aaron shouted back.

"I have the best doctor in the area treating her—"

"Yet everyone can see how poorly she has fared!"

"That doesn't give you the right to bring in someone else unless _you _wish to pay for it!"

"I'll pay whatever and whomever I must to afford her the care she deserves," Aaron said tightly.

"With what? Your officer's wages, no doubt withheld since this war's commence?"

Ceara hugged herself, dreading the prospect of them entering and seeing her dressed in next to nothing. From the sound of it, they were right down the hall.

"You were always too intelligent for your own good, boy," the Master shouted. "But may I remind you that I'm her husband, which gives you no legal right to interfere—"

"I should have been informed of her decline," Aaron said dangerously.

"I will handle your mother, as I always have—"

"If it weren't for you she wouldn't _be_ in this condition!" Aaron accused. "If you had any concern for her feelings you would have contacted me—"

"Who knew where you were?" the man defended. "Even when you _weren't _under scrutiny for your insubordination or petitioning for release as a prisoner of war you could never be properly located—how difficult could it be to answer an occasional letter?"

"You wouldn't know anything about it, not when your bribes buy you a way out of serving."

"In fact we just received a letter stating that you were missing in action," he quipped, "feared frozen to death on your way North to desert with the rest of your men—I think that may have had something to do with your mother's taking to her bed—"

"You knew _exactly_ how to contact me," Aaron insisted. "The fact that you did not speaks volumes—"

"I will not tolerate any more of your insolence—I want you out of my house by noon tomorrow, and that includes that _wife_ of yours the staff is raving on about!"

"You leave her out of this—"

"Very well but if the two of you aren't gone by then I will not hesitate to take legal action! I cannot have you upsetting your poor Mother—"

"I will be the one taking action," Aaron warned, "if you as much as lay a hand on her for harm—"

"You ingrate—I've been taking care of her all these years and given her everything a woman could desire—"

"Not to mention fearing for her life and sanity from you and your—"

"And let's not forget how I paid for your schooling and boarding, your training and officer's commission—"

"None of which I wanted!" Aaron retorted. "All you ever did was keep us apart so I wouldn't be here to make sure she was all right—"

"I gave you more than you deserved but it's no use arguing with you—I have another matter to attend to."

"Go ahead, attend!"

"And don't forget my boy—out by noon or I'll have you forcibly removed from your marriage bed—"

Ceara pressed a hand over her mouth to keep from crying out a protest, but Aaron's voice interrupted her.

"You will _not _disturb our privacy," he warned dangerously, though there was no response. She heard footsteps retreating down the hall and rushed toward the door, laying a hand upon it but thinking better than to open it. Beyond it she heard Aaron heave a mighty sigh, and she envisioned him lifting a hand to either his temples or the back of his neck, habits of his she had begun to predict. To her surprise she heard him start off after his stepfather, and leaning her forehead against the door, she closed her eyes and prayed for him.

"_Oh Aaron…"_

_**Panting to catch his breath,**_ which puffed out like the steam from a train's engine, Aaron finally stopped his hasty flight from his stepfather's presence and leaned his arms along the wall of the old fortification to gaze down over the lake. He's hiked the rest of the way up the mountain, attempting to put as much distance between them as possible. Hanging his head and groaning in remorse he counted his return worse than he could ever have imagined it would be. Not only had his stepfather failed to mellow with age, but he'd grown more belligerent and impossible. Comparing his mother's calm acceptance of her situation measured against her second husband's overbearing nature caused him undue distress as to why she stayed with the man. Her lack of defense both frustrated and mystified him, as did her loving and continual capacity for forgiveness no matter who or what was the cause. Suddenly he faced the futility of trying to remove her from her troubled marriage, shaking his head cynically at all the blows he'd taken for her in hopes of placating the man. But his defense of her was seen only as a sign of weakness. Even now, with his plan set firmly in place, he considered the very distinct possibility that she would not leave. Without her cooperation there was nothing he would be able to do for her. Feeling desperate and helpless, he squeezed his eyes shut, gripping the railing and praying for patience.

Suddenly Ceara's face rose before him, causing him to remember how he'd stormed out of the house in anger and frustration, leaving her alone. A voice in the back of his mind told him that she would see how he'd used her, marrying her on a whim in one last desperate attempt to secure a bit of happiness and peace. His father's will insisted that he marry in order to inherit his lands, and though he told himself that he'd rescued her from her own desperate situation he felt guilty.

"No, I love her," he said softly, staring out at the play of moonlight upon the waters. She would understand that his desire for her had been foremost, for they suited unbelievably well. With her he had enjoyed friendship, love and passion, but now that she could see exactly what he had pulled her into she would surely have regrets. If he were in her position, he would certainly have them.

Pressing a hand to his forehead, he absently massaged at the pain splitting his head, though the pain in his heart was even greater as, for the first time, he considered the prospect that she might not wish to go any further with him, not after coming here and seeing what he must deal with.

"Don't hate me," he pleaded with her, praying and hoping that somehow she might understand. Her intelligence and wisdom were well beyond her years, as was her discernment. Yet he doubted that she had ever been exposed to anything like this tangled problem of his family.

"Dear God, what have I done, bringing her here?" he groaned. "Please—I cannot lose her…not now!"

_Look to me…._

As soon as he had thought it, he'd heard the solution. Sucking in his breath he looked up as if suddenly taking note of his surroundings. He was standing atop the highest point of the town, at the edge of civilization and on the verge of a daunting wilderness. The night was cold and it was late. No living thing was about, not man nor beast. Yet still he had sensed that he was not alone…

_Impossible_, he reasoned, even as he remembered how often he'd felt the presence of an evil being. Only this time it was neither evil nor fear enveloping him and filling the universe above his head. Squinting against the stiff breeze making his eyes water, he accepted what he knew made no sense. He was not alone. Something or someone had brought him thus far, protected him and given him Ceara. Perhaps her beliefs had rubbed off on him, or perhaps Harrison's and Wenonah's. As he accepted this by faith he felt something quicken deep within him. Peace and joy sprung to life in his war torn soul, giving him hope. Mixed with it was a sense of awe, as well as fear that what he sensed was really happening.

_I will light your path…trust me…_

_**Somewhere after midnight there was a sound outside the door, **_causing her to look up from the book she'd found in Aaron's quarters. Her eyes shot to the mantle clock and then to the gently jiggling handle of the door. Shooting to her feet she rushed toward it, laying a steadying hand upon the paneled wood.

"Who is it?" she asked, keeping her voice low.

"It's me," a voice called softly; it was Aaron's voice. "Unlock the door."

He sounded hoarse and exhausted, and when she unlocked it and pulled it open she stepped back, hand over her heart. When she saw how pale he looked, his hair tousled by the wind and his eyes filled with anguish, she wanted to throw her arms around him. Yet something had changed in his expression, reminding her of the sound of his shouting. She had learned from their argument that he had been beaten as a child, and tales of the victim growing up to become a beater filled her thoughts as she looked at him. At her silent perusal his eyes flared with irritation, and the sound of the door locking behind him nearly made her jump. Those same eyes dipped toward the gap in the neckline of her robe, making her clasped it tight. At her gesture his eyes shot up, burning with questions.

"You're _afraid _of me," he said in an agonized voice as he took a step toward her. She could feel the cold emanating from him, shuddering inwardly at the dark oppression that had enveloped them since the arrival of his stepfather.

"You startled me," she explained, unable to deny a bit of fear. "I had no idea what went on, after the shouting…you've been gone a long time."

His eyes dropped from the hand hiding her cleavage to the one gripping the tie of her robe, finally lifting to her almost dried, freshly washed hair.

"You waited," he breathed incredulously, slowly coming toward her but stopping two paces away.

Something changed in his expression, and she began to see the man she had known before they'd ever come to this point in time. "I was reading," she tried smiling, gesturing toward the book lying open upon the settee. Half turning, she went toward the bell pull. "I was just about to ring for a hot drink."

His fingers began to unfasten his cloak while his eyes held hers. "I'm afraid you'll have a very long wait…no one is up at this hour."

_No one but you and I_ his eyes seemed to say as he slid the cloak from his shoulders, tossing it over the back of the upholstered chair. His gaze journeyed back toward the juncture of her neckline before he seemed to catch himself and look away.

"Then I shall fetch it myself," she said with a lift of her chin. "I can prepare a light snack, if you'll tell direct me as to how to reach the kitchen."

"Don't you remember?" he said softly, his eyes burning like molten silver. He indicated the direction with a very slight nod of his head.

She remembered coming by way of the abandoned staircase, and it seemed that at the same time they both remembered the breathless kisses shared there. "I'd prefer the main staircase," she said demurely.

He pursed his lips and glanced toward the fire. "Take a right to the staircase, cross the foyer to the corridor beneath the coat of arms; at its end you will find the kitchen."

She tried not to rush toward the door, grateful for something to do. His coolly seductive manner threw her off balance, as did the underlying sense of anger. Her mind scrambled for a plan to somehow reach him and perhaps soothe over their very rough arrival. Opening the door, she turned to glance back at him, finding his shoulders slumped and his head bent. Her eyes filled with moisture as she stood doubting the wisdom of leaving. But as he just stood there she decided that maybe he just needed time to settle in here and regain his bearings again.

"I shall be back momentarily?" she told him, realizing that they were playacting. Their earlier conversation about that very thing now rose up to mock her.

"No thank you," he said politely, not bothering to turn.

She nodded even though he would not see it, turned and let herself out.

_**Aaron lifted a hand to his temple, sighing raggedly and telling himself not to take her reaction too seriously.**_ Looking up, he let his gaze sweep the room which had once been his. It had been remodeled and made into quite a comfortable, welcoming suite. A master suite, complete with extra wide platform bed and heavily draped curtains of brocade. The colors were burgundy and gray, pleasant though completely foreign to him. He tried thinking of happier days spent here with his mother, but they seemed like only a faint and very distant memory.

With a sigh of exhaustion he went to the dresser and began to remove his cufflinks, then unwound his neckstock and pulled off his damp jacket. After that came his vest, belt, shirt, breeches and stockings. Draping everything over another chair he wandered into the lavatory and stopped short at the sight of a tub filled with soapy water. Approaching it as if fearing it would vanish, he bent to slowly trail his fingers through the lukewarm water. A sudden stab of desire at the vision of his wife sitting there taking her bath nearly doubled him over. Forcing it away, he concentrated on his own frozen and stiff body, pulling off his undergarments and climbing in. Sinking low into the water with bent knees he reached for a sponge and began to scrub himself. With a cynical smile he compared the used bathwater with all the swollen creeks and rivers in which he had spent his years bathing and considered it a luxury. Not to mention the added bonus of having held within its watery grasp the luscious form of his wife.

_**Ceara tapped the door with the toe of her slipper, balancing the tray as she waited for him to open it. **_One nervous glance down the corridor told her that he had been right, no one else was about this night, and she preferred it that way. As the moments passed it occurred to her that he might have fallen asleep, he had looked that exhausted. Feeling out of place and unduly frustrated she tapped the door again and prepared herself for what might prove to be a very long wait.

_Silly, getting yourself locked out, _she chided herself. _Or maybe you wanted to be locked out…_

The door opened suddenly, startling her to gasp and nearly drop the tray. Aaron towered over her, his molten gaze finally releasing their hold on her and dropping to her lips, then the tray. She pulled her gaze from the muscular chest clearly visible beneath his opened nightshirt and noted that some of the cider had spilled from their mugs. Lifting her chin she found his eyes upon her, and for a moment she thought that he might smile before seeming to think better of it.

"Come in," he said softly, sweeping his arm out as he stepped back. She swept past him, having noted the dampness of his hair and the way his nightshirt clung to the back of his shoulders, a damp spot just below the nape of his neck.

Setting the tray upon the table by the fire she glanced in his direction as he locked their door and turned to come toward her. The cider filled the room with a pleasant spicy scent, blending with the balsam soapy fragrance which emanated from the direction of his neck as he leaned close and picked up his mug. As he sat down and gazed into the fire she imagined him washing in her bath water, feeling a mixture of embarrassment and pleasure. It was a very intimate vision, she decided.

"Thank you," he stated, lifting the cup to his lips once again. She busied herself with unwrapping the cheese, bread and fruit she'd scavenged from the kitchen, aware of his gaze moving over what she thought was a thick enough robe to shield her silhouette from the light of the fire. Then she realized that the gown beneath it was nearly transparent, and that her robe drooped dangerously loose around her. He looked up and their eyes met. In an instant she knew that he was fully aware of her problem and relished it.

Plopping down at the opposite end of the cough but facing him, she lifted her mug and took a few sips, letting the spicy warmth tumble over her tongue. He took another drink as his eyes returned to her lips, and she thought she saw a flash of displeasure cross his features but he looked away, lifted his mug and drained its contents. Knowing that she was staring at the muscular column of his bare neck, she swallowed but could not seem to pull her gaze away. He leaned forward and broke off a piece of bread, and his shirt gaped open, revealing the hard curve of his chest and sprinkling of dark hair that had always fascinated her. He leaned back and bit into the bread, his eyes meeting hers. She watched them crinkle at the corners and felt him steal her breath away.

He swallowed thickly and sat back, covertly licking his lower lip. She pulled her attention from the tantalizing line of his mouth and reached for a piece of fruit, biting into the crisp apple with vigor. He dragged his gaze from her mouth and frowned.

"I regret everything that transpired in your absence," he said hoarsely, pursing his lips. "I would have spared you that glimpse into family life."

She swallowed, studying the strain in his expression before she reached for his hand. "I know."

He sighed with such emphasis that she almost sensed the wall of ice between them breaking and falling away. When he slid his fingers between hers she held on to his hand like a lifeline. "Why I engage him in verbal combat I'll never know…"

"I'm sorry I seemed afraid, before," she apologized softly, gently shaking her head. "It's just that I've never been exposed to such..."

"Hatred?" he breathed, dropping his head to the back of the furniture, "judgment and control?"

She took his hand between hers and slid closer, lifting his arm up so that she could settle against his side. He turned to rest his forehead against hers and she pushed her arm behind his back to hold him. His hand rose to lift her chin as he studied her in silence. "You are far too precious to me to lose, Ceara."

Twisting her expression in confusion she stared at him, momentarily speechless.

"Though after the way I behaved earlier, I could hardly hold it against you, should you leave me."

She lifted her hand to his cheek and leaned close to kiss him gently on the lips. "I'd love to leave this place, but never you."

He closed his eyes as she gently coaxed a kiss from him, then he propped a hand behind her head and kissed her with tender passion. "I don't deserve you," he whispered between exploratory kisses.

"Nor I you," she promised him, turning to slip her hands beneath his arms. "Now get up—you're exhausted and need your rest."

He rose stiffly and let her lead him to the bed, sitting at her silent bidding as she pushed down upon his shoulders. She leaned past him and pulled the blankets from their neatly tucked fold, shoving them aside. "Get in, Sir."

The room warmed from the logs he'd laid upon the fire just before she returned, and he found the luxurious softness of the mattress too tempting to resist. Complying with her wishes, he slid beneath them and settled onto the far side, lifting his arm and pressing a hand to his head.

"Let me massage your temples," she whispered, climbing up next to him and leaning over him to push his hands aside.

He glanced down at the appealing droop of her thin night rail and smiled cynically. "You don't truly expect me to leave it at that?"

She smiled and slid herself along his side, bracing herself upon her elbows as she gently rubbed his temples. Closing his eyes with a sigh he dropped his hands to the mattress, relaxing for the first time in days.

"I expect you to reserve another time for love," she whispered, kissing his forehead softly.

He stretched his shoulders into the mattress and blindly found her waist, holding it between his hands. "If you keep doing this I'm not sure I can do so."

She laughed huskily and covered him up. "Nurse's orders, Lieutenant," she whispered, continuing to massage behind his head and down into his neck and shoulders.

He groaned with pleasure, feeling the tight muscles warm and comply with her fingers. "I'm sorry I am not much company tonight," he breathed.

"You're exhausted," she complained.

"True, though I doubt I'll sleep at all tonight," he sighed, moving beneath her competent ministrations. His body grew leaden and his breathing slowed.

"I wouldn't be so sure," she said softly, and he heard the smile in her voice.

"I must go out very early," he whispered, trailing his hand down her arm to hold one hand. "Stay here or go to the kitchens," he requested, his eyes closed. "You'll find the staff much more suited to our liking."

"All right," she agreed. "When will you be back?"

"As soon as I can," he sighed tiredly, turning on his stomach at her bidding. He felt her begin to knead the muscles of his shoulders, not caring that his scars were clearly exposed to her view. He felt too wondrous at the moment to be concerned.

"Aaron…where will we be going, when we leave here?"

"To my father's lands."

He felt her slide her legs along his side and the weight of her head resting at his shoulder. "Is it far?"

He sighed, feeling increasingly drowsy. "Far enough to keep _him _away."

_c. 2008 by Christine Levitt_


	23. Chapter 23 The Eviction

_**Chapter 23 The Eviction**_

"_**I'll be back for you," a voice whispered at her ear, causing a pleasant shivering sensation to skip along the back of her neck.**_ She stirred from sleep at the touch of his lips upon her cheek and lifted her head from the pillow. Gazing into the semi-darkness as he straightened, she caught his sleeve and pulled him back for a kiss. It was soft and tentative, a suggestion and a promise of what might come after.

"I'll be waiting," she whispered back, inhaling the faint scent of his shaving cream as he tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear to caress her cheek.

"Careful," he breathed, touching his lips to hers, "you're in danger of thwarting our carefully laid plan for a swift departure."

"One more," she sighed, smoothing her hands through his hair as she kissed him before gently pushing him away.

He righted himself, smoothing his hair back as he stood gazing down at her. "If only I'd hired someone to help," he complained softly, turning to gather his things.

She slipped a hand beneath her pillow, propping her head up to watch him. His stature was all for business as he went to the top drawer of his bureau and withdrew something. This he tucked it into the breast pocket of his vest. Though she was unable to see him clearly in the dim light of early morning, she decided it leant a more alluring feel to their shared kiss. Knowing better but unable to resist, she stretched lazily, watching his lithe form move gracefully around the room.

"Don't forget your mother's request," she dared to call softly, watching him freeze and turn his head in her direction. For a moment it she hoped that he might reconsider leaving and come back to her. What passed between them was inexplicable, like a breath of eternity that was held longer than either of them might anticipate. Then he reached for his cloak and draped it over his arm, his smile flashing white in the dim light.

"We'll see to it tonight," he said in a velvety tone, "though it is possible we may have already complied."

She caught her breath and held the intense regard she sensed more than saw in his eyes, and then he saluted and strode to the door. It opened without a sound and closed, after which she heard the click of the lock. Sighing with regret she reached for his pillow and embraced it.

"I am your willing captive, sir," she whispered, not at all bothered by him locking her in. Inhaling his scent which clung to the pillow she closed her eyes, sliding a hand down over her stomach.

_He may be right,_ she pondered, thrilled by the expectation in his manner. Though she hadn't mentioned anything to him yet, her monthly flow was overdue. It was true that it had never been regular or predictable, yet its delay could very well be for that reason. Since their mock wedding she had thought from time to time about the possibility of carrying his child. Their marriage of convenience made the relationship unpredictable, as did the circumstances of war and his part in serving in it. Yet she had prayed about their future, hoping they might somehow end up sharing one. Yet it was not until the night that he'd told her he'd been a prisoner of war that an answer had come. Even now she heard its whisper, confirming not only a future with him, but a lineage as well. Now, as she drifted back to sleep it echoed again in her thoughts:

_He needs a child…_

_**By the time she found her way to the kitchens**_ she already missed him desperately, hoping to question the staff concerning any news of his return. Only a few hours remained until they faced the threatened eviction no doubt to be presided over by his stepfather's return. Crossing the foyer she inhaled the aroma of baking bread and drawing near heard the soft murmur of voices and clinking of china. Pausing at the threshold, she stood studying the four people who were too busy at work to look up: the elderly butler Bennett and Harriet the cook, whom she had met the previous day, as well as a younger woman and a boy of about 12 years of age. Oblivious to her presence, they wore worried frowns and seemed to prefer silence as if each lost in thought. Taking a step forward she paused, seeking their notice and permission to enter. When they gave neither, she cleared her throat.

"Excuse me," she called, resting a hand upon the countertop. All activity abruptly ceased as every face turned in her direction. They stared at her in shock, only the boy moving as he lifted a hand to cover his opened mouth. She smiled nervously. "May I come join you? I'm Ceara—Aaron's wife—"

"It's true!" the younger woman cried as she lurched forward to grab Ceara's hand. This she shook with great excitement, pumping her hand up and down as she might do to draw water. "I'm Drea, and this is my son Todd—I believe you already met Bennett and Harriet?"

"Yes, I'm please to meet—"

"Mr. Aaron got himself a wife!" the boy shouted with glee, shoving aside his basket repair and getting up. "And a pretty one too!"

"Come in, come in dearie!" Harriet interjected, clucking disapprovingly at the boy as his mother told him to mind his manners. "Sit yourself down and have a bite to eat."

"The young master left quite early," Bennett said reservedly, looking up from his ledger book with some uncertainty.

"He's got important business," Harriet lectured, continuing to knead the bread. "Not for any of us to inquire of."

Drea sat her at the table and pushed a bowl and spoon toward her. "My mother makes the best porridge in the county," she bragged, lifting the ladle to serve her a dollop.

"Don't crowd the poor girl," Harriet lectured. "Todd, stand back and let her breathe!"

"Oh, sorry!" Drea giggled, "We're just so happy to meet ye…we could all use some new life around here."

"Indeed," Bennett confirmed, gazing back at his accounts.

"Do you know when my husband might return?" Ceara asked them as she stirred some cream into her cereal, grateful to them for making her feel at home.

"No, but don't you worry," Harriet soothed, turning the dough out onto the table; "he's a man of his word and will come at his first opportunity."

"Do you really have to leave?" Todd pouted, slumping in his chair. "You just arrived!"

"What choice does he have?" Harriet said under her breath, her eyes darting toward the entrance.

There was an uncomfortable silence as they resumed their duties and Ceara ate the delicious gruel. After a moment she dared another question. "I wondered if I might ask Sylvie concerning his mother's health?"

"Sylvie has the day off," Drea told her, looking up from her churning, "but that new nurse Mr. Aaron hired said she is improving. When I took up their breakfast and tidied up they were having a nice visit."

"His mother means the world to him," Harriet stated proudly, her eyes meeting Bennett's.

"He had better return soon," the butler said ominously.

"I was only nine the last time Mr. Aaron came home," Todd offered; "each time he comes, he spends more time wi' us than his own."

"Is that so?" Ceara commented with a smile. "I can see why."

Todd sat higher in his chair. "I'll go look for him if ye want," he said hopefully.

"You'll do no such thing!" Drea scolded, smiling at Ceara. "He'll come when he's ready and no sooner."

"But I know some of his favorite hikes," Todd boasted to Ceara. "He took me with him many a time!"

"I doubt very much that Mr. Aaron is hiking," Bennett said before a deep voice interrupted them. "He has much more important business to attend to—"

"That's right, Bennett," they all heard, turning to gaze at Aaron where he had materialized at the entrance to the mud room. Ceara swallowed and slowly stood, hardly recognizing the stern expression on his face. His eyes held hers, unreadable as he addressed the others. "And I'm afraid this is going to be goodbye."

"Goodbye?" Todd croaked, his face crumpling. Drea set aside her churning handle and went to her son to distract him.

Aaron nodded to Bennett, who gestured to Harriet. Interrupting their work they got up and started toward the corridor. "We'll have your things brought right down, sir," the butler called back before they vanished.

"Todd, go see if Miles has the coach ready, then come back," Drea urged. The boy pouted but started toward the door, hugging Aaron as he passed by. He reached down to ruffle Todd's hair, at which point Ceara thought she saw a flash of yearning in his gaze before it was quickly masked.

"I'll be right back!" the boy promised before dashing off.

Drea slowly turned back to her work. "He'll miss you dearly, sir," she sighed.

"I regret that it has to be this way, at least for now," he said, hanging his cloak before coming to Ceara's side. "We have a few moments for breakfast," he told her, taking the chair next to hers.

"I thought we had until noon," she whispered, watching him seat himself and reach for the gruel.

"I hope to be well on our way by then," he said, serving himself as Drea came to add a bowl of scones to the table.

"He left for his bank an hour ago," she told him nervously. "Perhaps he spoke rashly sir, and regrets ordering you to leave."

Aaron glanced up at her with a cynical smile. "I doubt that very much, but appreciate the thought, Drea."

"But sir," she objected, closing her mouth as though deciding not to say what she intended.

Aaron gestured to encourage her as he reached for a scone. "Please, say what's on your mind."

She threw Ceara an apologetic glance before glancing toward the corridor, then back to Aaron. "It's Bennett, sir—you might consider taking him with you, you know, to help out in your new place of residence."

Ceara kept her expression blank as Aaron struggled to incorporate the idea into his thinking.

"I'm sorry, sir, I shouldn't have said—"

"Bennett is William Crote's employee," he said carefully, "not mine."

"Might you do somethin' though?" she whispered, "He'd never ask you himself, but with him getting on in years we worry for his health with the Master being so difficult."

Aaron studied the surface of the table, spreading his fingers wide. Ceara was tempted to place her hand over his in sympathy, for it was obvious that the elderly butler was fearful in his stepfather's presence. As he hesitated they could hear Bennett and Harriet coming back, at which point Aaron stood. They entered reporting that the trunks were packed and on their way to the coach for loading. Touching the napkin to his lips, he tossed it down. In that moment Todd stomped in leading the driver, and everyone halted in place as they stared at him in silence. Ceara noted the thinly veiled hope in their expressions while he looked each one in the eye.

"Well this is it," he began, nodding toward Ceara. "My wife and I will be leaving for our own residence. Dr. Kimball is sending a coach at 11 o'clock to collect my mother and his nurse, who will join us…For reasons I'm sure you realize, these arrangements must remain secret not only for our benefit, but for yours as well…"

Ceara marvelled at how quiet and still the staff remained through this briefing, causing her to envision him commanding his own men. Their silence, however, seemed to frustrate him even more than their objections might. He waited, his brows lifted in anticipation for objections or further questioning, but no one spoke. She noted a flash of pain flee across his expression and vanish as he reached into the pocket of his breeches and pulled out an envelope.

"I have enjoyed knowing each of you and wish you God speed," he stated, setting it upon the table.

"We'll miss you, sir," they answered, as of suddenly coming to their senses.  
"Aye, sir," Drea submitted. "God speed to you, sir," Harriet declared with enthusiasm.

"In this envelope you will find a token of my appreciation, fondness and gratitude to you all," he informed them. "Please divide it equally and use for your personal benefit alone."

That said he took Ceara's arm and escorted her to the mudroom for their cloaks. She glanced back at their expressions of dismay, particularly Bennett's stricken countenance. As Aaron's hands settled her cloak upon her shoulders she glanced up at him, finding his expression twisted by regret. Swinging his own cloak over his back, he touched Ceara's arm to signal she precede him.

"And Bennett," he called over one shoulder, "please accompany my mother and see to her every need along the way," he added, half turning to wait for the butler's answer.

Ceara almost chuckled at the man's stupefied expression and his immobile stance.

"Well you'd better start packing your things," Aaron encouraged," you've not long before the coach arrives."

Faltering a moment, Bennett smiled stiffly and incredulously. "I'd be honored sir but—"

"I'll see to the matter of your transfer," Aaron stated as he fastened his cloak. Ceara slid a hand over his back though she felt like throwing her arms around him. "Your contract should be dissolved easily enough with legal assistance."

"Yes sir," Bennett said in an awestruck voice. "Thank you, sir!"

Todd broke away from his mother's hold and rushed up to Aaron. "You have to come back," he objected, fisting his hands at his sides. "This can't be goodbye, sir!"

Aaron bent to look him in the eye. "We'll see each other again," he offered, holding out his hand for a shake. "You have my word."

Todd took his hand and pumped it, a smile upon his face. "All right then," he agreed, smiling up at Ceara as Aaron straightened.

They called out their thanks and goodbyes before Aaron steered her toward the waiting coach. Helping her climb up, he followed and shut the door, rapping on the roof. The coach lurched into motion as everyone crowded at the door to wave silently after them. They were on their way with two extra hours to spare, it seemed.

Descending the same drive they'd climbed together, she studied his face as he stared out the window beyond her, his eyes steely grey in the late morning sun. His lips were pursed and she noted the early appearance of the dark shadow of his beard, usually not visible until late in the day unless he was tense. Aware of his concern for his mother she tucked her hands through his elbow and held on, pressing close. There was no need for conversation, and each wandered in thought far beyond the confines of the coach. After some time he seemed to relax, and arced an arm out to readjust the lap blanket over her knees. She caught his hand and held it between her gloved ones upon her thigh. He turned toward her and they shared a tentative kiss before they both stared out the window at the landscape flashing by.

_**Three days later the repairmen finished and departed**_, leaving only the extra cleaning help to finish up. Florence Crote had signed the documents for a separation from her husband William Crote and was regaining her strength and health day by day. She and Ceara had spent hours together in Aaron's absence as he oversaw the extensive renovations and repairs necessary to restore their home of years past after its long period of vacancy. To Ceara's delight even Pierce, Caleb's reluctant dowry gift, was escorted the livery where Aaron had boarded him before their coach ride to rest in his own permanent stable, enjoying the company of two new mares purchased for their use. As she finished pinning her hair she approached the library and stopped at the threshold, gazing into her new mother-in-law's eyes which shined with pleasure as she stood with one hand resting upon a new pianoforte, apparently just delivered.

"This is my surprise," Florence breathed, her face glowing with joy as she gestured for Ceara to come in.

Ceara rushed toward her, taking her hand between hers as she gazed excitedly at the instrument now standing just to the side of the French doors that led to the veranda. "It's beautiful!" she gasped, squeezing Florence's hand. "Have you tried it yet?"

Florence shook her head but glided slowly toward the keyboard. "I'm still appreciating the design," she said happily, glancing at Ceara. "He never said a word about this…"

Ceara watched her trace her fingertips over the keys and slowly sit down. She closed her eyes and seemed lost in a memory.

"How long has it been since you played?" she asked his mother, who sighed and opened her eyes, which were brimming with tears.

"At least ten years," she answered, shaking her head and folding her hands in her lap. "The last time Aaron stayed for two entire days, during the holidays."

"And you played for him?" she asked, not wanting to see like she was prying. The era to which Florence referred was one she had heard very little about, when they had still lived here before her remarrying.

"I did…he enjoyed it so." Florence turned her head to gaze out the doors as if trying to see him somewhere off in the distance, either in time or landscape, Ceara could not discern.

"He should be back for dinner tonight," she said hopefully, though Aaron had been delayed many times from either arrangements concerning the estate or from meetings. Though she was highly suspicious of the latter and was nearly sure that some of those were involved with his undercover work, she had not dared to ask.

"It is a miracle he comes at all," Florence said just above a whisper, turning her head and holding out a hand to her. "Come sit by me."

Ceara complied, feeling another one of their conversations about to commence. Not the kind which were filled with facts or generalizations of biography, but the kind that provided her a glimpse into the mysterious past of her beloved husband. These she eagerly anticipated, though she credited herself with hiding her excitement well enough to allow them to gently come forth. For not only had Aaron suffered a great deal, but his mother had also suffered her own private grief at the loss of her first husband.

"I will not play until he's home," she began, tracing the intricate carving of the music stand with a sad smile playing about her lips. "It would not seem right to do so, with him away."

"Cook has a special dinner being prepared for tonight," Ceara told her hopefully. "Our first formal dinner since moving here."

Florence glanced at her expression and smiled. "You've worked incredibly hard yourself, my dear; and it is very much appreciated."

"We just want to be sure you're comfortable, and fully recovered," Ceara said sincerely.

Florence chuckled deep in her throat, and Ceara gazed at the resemblance in her to Aaron's dark looks. She thought of her own mother not attaining half of Florence's age, but set aside the empty feeling thoughts of her parents always caused.

"I know better than that," she teased, lifting a hand to Ceara's back to hug her affectionately. "For I've seen the way you two look at each other."

"Florence, please!" Ceara blushed hotly. "I _was _being truthful—"

"I know, dear, but a great deal of a happily married woman's efforts center upon her husband's pleasure," she smiled. "Trust me, I know the feelings and they are good and right."

Ceara nodded, busying herself with straightening the stack of sheet music to her right. "It's just that we've not had much time to be together for rest and relaxation."

"I know my son," Florence said, shaking her head. "If there is one area in which he is weak, that would be it. But that is where you come in, and I believe you are doing an admirable job."

"Thank you, Madam!" Ceara laughed, half turning to face her. "And I appreciate all that you've told me about his childhood and your first husband."

"Simon was a wonderful man," she answered. "Aaron is a lot like him, thank the Lord—except for their both sharing an inordinately strong sense of duty and disregard for danger."

Ceara watched her expression sober, feeling her own lighthearted mood vanish. "He is keen and intelligent, Florence—you need not fear him endangering himself any more than he must."

She nodded, hugging her tightly. "And now that he has you, and the little one, he'll take even more care."

Ceara held her breath as they stared into each other's eyes. There was a merry twinkling in Florence's gaze as she nodded. "I know the way a woman looks when she is expecting a child."

Feeling the color drain from her face, Ceara forced a smile. "You do?"

Florence nodded, leaning closer. "When are you going to tell him?" she whispered.

Ceara exhaled a deep breath, the sound of which was a bit shaky. "I was planning on tonight, just before dinner, so that we could celebrate."

Florence withdrew a bit, her smile less enthusiastic as she glanced out the doors. "Perhaps you should do so in private, later on."

Ceara stared at her profile. "But why? I thought we should include you, of course."

Florence met her waiting gaze and slowly got up. "Trust me, dear—tell him in private. I only advise this because I have a feeling he will be leaving soon…this weighs very heavily upon him, though he hides it well."

Ceara felt her eyes flood with tears and glanced down at her hands. "You've sensed it, too?"

"Ceara, you must be strong," Florence said, squeezing her shoulder. "Aaron is called to greatness—I've always known that…and I also know that he is involved in a very different pursuit that meets the eye."

Ceara looked up at her, holding her gaze. "How do you know?" she whispered.

Florence smiled and leaned upon the side of the pianoforte. "When we received that letter, the one stating that he and his men had been found frozen to death up North, I knew he was still alive…a mother knows things like that. Though the evidence was very strong and I could envision him trying to prevent his men from deserting, I just knew it did not end there. No—

don't feel guilty if you know more! I would never hold it against you for keeping anything from me. How could I, when I don't hold it against him?"

"But Mr. Crote said that that letter caused your health to worsen—"

"I had to let him think that, don't you understand?"

Ceara stared at her, finally beginning to understand. "Florence, I don't know what to say."

She waved a hand dismissively. "You don't have to say anything, except that your first loyalty is to your husband and your—"

"Ceara!" Aaron called from the opposite end of the hall, startling them both. She shot to her feet and called back.

"We're in the library!"

Florence went to her side and gently pinched her cheek. "You look too pale—don't worry, I won't betray your wonderful secret, but do tell him when you're alone?"

Ceara nodded as Aaron strode into the room and stopped abruptly, his eyes shifting from wife to mother with mild suspicion. His hair was windblown and his coat sodden with newly fallen snow, causing her to move toward him and brush off his shoulders.

"Where have you been all day?" she gasped, noting the mud and slush on his boots and splattered up along his cloak. She squeaked in surprise when he picked her up easily and twirled her around in a circle.

"Walking up a tremendous appetite!" he breathed, setting her down and going to his mother to kiss her on the cheek. "I see you've found your present."

She patted his cheek and smiled as she went toward the pianoforte. "It's beautiful, darling—thank you!"

"Have you heard her play yet?" he asked Ceara as he walked toward the fire and stretched his hands toward it.

"I insisted upon waiting until you came home," Florence answered, watching Ceara go to him to unfasten his cloak and take it for him. "Where is Bennett when you need him?" she complained with a chuckle.

"Bennett is predisposed with the accounts," Aaron defended him, sweeping an arm around Ceara to kiss her cheek. "I can take care of my own needs," he said, his eyes twinkling as he gazed into hers alone.

"You'll spoil that man if this continues too long," Florence sighed, coming toward them to take Aaron's cloak and overcoat from Ceara. "Let me hang these up—you two take a moment together," she suggested, strolling from the room.

Ceara smoothed her hand down his lapel, stepping closer. "Your mother is very intuitive," she whispered to him, lifting a fingertip to trace the slight cleft in his chin.

He wound both arms around her and kissed her soundly, urging a soft moan from her as he picked her up. "Isn't she?" he whispered back, kissing her tenderly. "I've missed you."

"And I you," she teased, planting both hands upon his chest to push him back. "You're too wet to hug, and I've got a special dinner waiting for you."

He grinned wolfishly. "I'm starving, my love—name the time and I'll be ready."

She glanced toward the clock. "I believe half-past five should be enough time."

He glanced toward the mantle clock as he slid his arm over her shoulders and turned her. "We should have enough time," he whispered, leading her toward the hall.

She looked up at him with pretend suspicion. "Enough time for what?"

He smiled, taking her arm as she lifted her hem at the bottom of the stairs. "You know exactly to what I refer."

She laughed softly, tightening her grip upon his arm. "You are so predictable, sir," knowing very well that he was anything but.

_by Christine Levitt, c. 2008 _


	24. Chapter 24 Notes

_**Chapter 24 Notes **_

"_**But we want to stay with you!" Faith cried as Paulie threw his arms around Betsy's waist in a fierce hug.**_ Lifting his face to meet her scrutiny, his eyes burned with hope. "Can we, please?" he pleaded softly.

Frowning, Betsy studied him a moment before slowly disengaging herself. "Your father has finally returned home," she soothed, glancing to his sister for help but finding none. "You must at least try to get reacquainted."

Faith clenched her fists at her sides, hardening her expression. "He _deserted _us!" she croaked with emotion. "If it wasn't for Lieutenant Aaron tracking him down and ordering him back, he would never have come!"

Paulie swallowed a sob as he dashed toward the room where she remembered Aaron had stayed in what seemed like years ago. Though she started after him, Faith reached out to grab her arm.

"He'll only get mad," she warned, releasing her and flopping onto the sofa. Betsy took one more glance toward the closed door and decided his sister was probably right. Going to sit next to her, she wrapped an arm around the reluctant girl.

"I'd like you to stay but I've no rights!" she tried to explain, thanking and cursing Aaron at the same time. Why couldn't that man leave well enough alone, she wondered. Her thoughts shot to Ceara but she shoved them aside for the moment. "At least see him—he's made it clear how sorry he is."

Faith flung herself onto Betsy, hugging her just as fiercely as her brother had. "Why can't you adopt us?" she moaned. "You're more family to us than he ever was!"

"Hush now, don't say that!" Betsy whispered, smoothing the girl's hair and feeling her tears beginning to wet her shoulder. "Get his letter and we'll read it again."

Faith shot up to a sitting position, swiping at her eyes. "It won't matter," she hiccoughed, "even if we do go back to live there with him, I'll never forgive him!"

Betsy bit her lower lip and reached for the letter addressed to both children. Opening it carefully, she felt a stab of pain in her chest at the obvious grief its lines expressed. Something drew her to the words, for she could not doubt their sincerity. It made no sense at all, she told herself, for he was a complete stranger. "He does have a gift with words," she thought aloud, looking up at his daughter.

Faith crossed her arms and shut her eyes. "Amazing, since it's been too long since he used them!"

Betsy stared at her a moment before a laugh burst forth from her. Immediately regretting it, she held Faith's angry glare in astonishment as she watched it soften while her eyes dropped back to her father's letter. "I'm sorry, Faith—I think ye have the same gift!"

Faith shyly met her gaze. "You think so?" she asked, slowly reaching for the letter. Betsy handed it to her and reached for her hand.

"It might help to think only of the good memories," she suggested softly, squeezing her hand. "Who knows? Going back in time might just heal what's broken."

At that moment the door creaked open and they glanced toward Paulie, who stood with the door ajar, gazing out at them.

"Come here, young man," Betsy ordered, waving a hand toward him. "We've somethin' important to discuss."

_**John Masters rubbed a hand down his whiskered face but nodded to Captain Burke. **_"Aye, sir," he said gruffly, turning to take his leave.

Burke watched him plod off in his muddy boots and plainclothes, painfully aware of how out of place and self-conscious the man felt coming to the officers' meeting room. Unfortunately he was too busy to see him in the local tavern where they had always met before, and his plans were due for review within the hour.

"And Masters," he added, glancing up when the man turned at the door, "when you see Aaron, give him my best."

Masters' lined face cracked in a rare half-grin. "I will, sir, as well as inquire as to Miss Ceara's well-being."

Burke nodded, holding the gaze of the man who had proven himself invaluable in the western Commonwealth arena. He had taken up the slack resulting from Aaron's leave, and Burke made a mental note to see he was rewarded.

"You did well tracking down her brother," Burke said, leaning back and telling himself he deserved a moment's break from his designs. "He may prove useful once we complete his orders to return North."

"He was always a dependable young man," Masters offered, his expression hopeful. "Though I realize it's a risk involving more than one family relation."

Burke nodded wistfully, studying the man he'd come to know better in the past few weeks. "Just keep his sister out things, all right?"

"I understand, sir," Masters sighed, tipping his hat. "Well, I'll be goin' now, sir."

"Thank you, John," Burke sighed, leaning his arms back upon his desk. "Now it's back to work for both of us."

"Good day, sir."

_**Cecily eagerly tore open the envelope from the New Hampshire Grants, glancing up to be sure no one else was watching. **_Thankfully the dry good section of the general store was deserted at mid morning, and she shoved away a stab of guilt at deceiving her husband. It had been weeks since Ceara's last correspondence, a one-page letter she found frustratingly devoid of much detail. Not being able to afford coming here to check as often as she would have liked, she was disappointed that this was all that had been waiting for her to collect. _One letter, and another one-page one at that!_

The town busybody flitted past the window as she scanned the three dozen lines her sister had written, and when the bell over the door tinkled she groaned under her breath to see it was indeed Mrs. Summers who had entered. Quickly shoving the letter into her coat pocket, Cecily swung her bag toward her wrist and quickly dropped a few small sacks of provisions into its depths before starting toward the counter.

"Why Cecily Godwin, whatever are you doing shopping at this hour, and without your little one?" Edith Summers declared, planting one hand upon her ample hip as she leaned against the counter.

Cecily smiled artificially at her before directing her attention to Mr. Wainscott, the storekeeper. "Just a few things," she announced, reaching into her shopping bag to place them before him. "Caleb is watching the baby for a change," she said sweetly, looking directly into the woman's interested stare.

"How modern a world we now inhabit!" Edith crooned, fingering a ribbon which hung on display at her end of the counter. "In my day I hardly ever left the house, with all the work I had."

"My husband loves to play with our son," she lectured, smiling at Mr. Wainscott's sour smile. "I believe it's good for fathers to involve themselves in child rearing, especially now that Matthew is walking."

"Well I never," Mrs. Summers sighed, obviously taken aback as Cecily paid, took her purchases and bid her a good day.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Cecily glanced back over her shoulder to see the woman staring after her through the window. Speeding up her pace, she marched over the board walk and headed for home, waiting until no one was walking toward her before pulling out Ceara's letter once again. Holding it high, she scanned the middle section where the best lines revealed a bit of the state of her marriage.

"_Aaron is a wonderful husband," _she read in a whisper, glancing up to be sure she was alone. _"He is unfailingly patient with me but also has a marvelous sense of humor, though it must be tended and nurtured. We have not been without our share of trials and challenges, and I now understand how important it is to set aside one's own desires and plans for the benefit of the greater union. Never, though, could I have dreamed I would be so happy in doing so. Perhaps the best aspect of our life together is the fact that we have grown to love and need each other in equal measure. _

_I think of you often and miss you dearly. Please write me even though I am not able to write back as often as you can. Kiss Matthew for me and, though I never would have imagined myself requesting, please thank Caleb for bringing us together!_

_All my love,_

_Ceara _

Sighing with frustration, she entered the livery and called for her carriage, pondering the note from her sister while she waited. The lack of address puzzled her, and she wondered what kind of place the newlyweds shared. The New Hampshire Grants bordered some beautiful but wild territory, she had heard, and the fact that no city or town was listed with the return post box number troubled her.

"What do you really know about him?" she whispered as if Ceara were present at her side. Aaron was without a doubt a very desirable man, in her unbiased opinion, but there was just too much mystery surrounding him to allow her to envision her sister as truly happy. Yet Ceara had indicated that she was, attesting to the quality and strength of her husband's character.

As she watched the stable boy drive up her rig she began to formulate a plan to make the journey north and see exactly what Ceara's situation was. How she would do that without Caleb knowing was beyond her, though she intended to seek Betsy's opinion and help. Maybe the two of them could travel together, now that Betsy had suffered such a terrible loss. It would do her good to get away and forget her grief, Cecily decided, and a trip to see Ceara might be just what they both needed.

_**Folding it back into its tiny square, Ceara carefully tucked the note inside the lining of the hem of her husband's coat sleeve where she had found it. **_She glanced toward the empty side of the bed, envisioning herself in this exact position for what could very well characterize her future. Absently tightening her robe she padded toward the window and stood gazing out at the whitened fields of melting snow, half expecting to see him out there walking as he often did when he could not sleep.

She thought of the intimate time they had shared only hours earlier, when they had dozed off in each other's arms. It had only been a short nap, and that interrupted by the chills that had rudely and unexpectedly awakened him. These he'd shrugged off as just a remnant from his time spent as a prisoner of war. The cases of swamp fever she had read about were legendary for attacking patients in the same manner, as they had during his stay in her infirmary. But she believed in the power of love to heal and determined that she would see him delivered.

_Not my husband, _she vowed, gazing out at the beauty of the moonlit night and wondering where he was. The clouds drifting by the three-quarter moon were brilliant white set against the black, starlit sky. He did most of his thinking and praying on such walks, she knew, for Aaron was a man of faith though he never discussed it. They had not yet discussed his background, nor had his mother offered any information on the subject. All she knew was that his parents had met in Scotland, and this his father had brought her here to begin a new life, one preferably free from persecution. But that was all she had pieced together, and she could not be satisfied with that.

_I must ask him soon,_ she decided, lifting a hand to draw the curtain back over the pane when she stopped and listened intently. A faint sound distracted her and she leaned closer to the window. Staring out into the night she heard it again and decided it was music. Concentrating upon the muted sound, she realized it must be the pianoforte Aaron had purchased for his mother. Leaning back and closing the curtain, she turned and started toward the door, wondering if his mother was also a night person who did not sleep well.

_Could Florence be playing again? _she wondered, remembering how beautifully his mother had played for the just after dinner. She had taught piano for many years, but had not touched a keyboard for the last decade. As she opened the door and decided to join her, she hoped to find him with her, listening again to her gifted playing.

Moving silently down the staircase she held the candle high, noting how it sparkled within the crystals of the chandelier presiding over the foyer and danced in reflection in the windowpanes as she passed. The music came to her more clearly as she approached the library, its deep bass notes churning softly like a rough sea tossed by the wind. A shiver of dark excitement coursed through her at the sound, though she reminded herself that it was Florence playing the music. She entered the long corridor leading there, drawn by the dramatic pull of the music which she understood Florence must hide from the general public. People would not understand such powerfully emotional music from a woman, though it was a shame this side of her expertise was kept hidden and confined to the night. Approaching the library she felt stirred by its intensity and angry undertones, and she paused at the double doors to prepare herself. Gently pushing one door only enough to peek inside, her soul trembled with rapture and she could only stare and listen, captured by the music. But it was not Florence who was playing.

With pounding heart she stared at his broad shoulders and bent head, too astonished to move. The music reached into the core of her being, demanding her surrender to its dark world of violent longing. This was another side of Aaron she had never seen nor heard before, but as she studied him and reminded herself that this was the same man who had taught her everything she knew about love, she smiled and surrendered. Softly blowing out the flame of the candle she opened the door and stepped inside. Reaching toward the table at her side, she gently set the candlestick down and stood watching him play.

_**Aaron felt her presence and closed his eyes, continuing to play. **_So attuned to her was he that it mattered not what separated them, nor if she understood or not. Squeezing his eyes tighter, he moved with the music, allowing it to tear his soul and express itself whichever way it wished. The melody had come to him while he walked beneath the stars, so clear that he sensed he'd been given an open door the heavens and had only to reproduce what he had heard on this instrument. Trying to remember the complex chords and shifts, he played the slow arpeggios as best he could, allowing them to toss back and forth and move downward into the bass octaves few composers utilized. As he calmed and slowed the music he concentrated on the faint fragrance which indicated her nearness, feeling it stir him deep inside. Grief washed over him at the thought of leaving her, but he forced his back to straighten and rose higher upon the seat. He felt her eyes upon him, touching him as keenly as if her fingertips traced along his skin. He brushed his fingers over the keys in response, playing for her the music he had been given as a gift.

"I'm sorry I woke you," he said, studying the keys as he separated his hands to reach the distant octaves. He played the upper range with a softly alluring tone while keeping the base levels gently throbbing in nature.

She appeared opposite him, her face pale in the dim firelight as she touched the instrument and waited. He looked into her eyes, so dark and fathomless, intensely aware of the slightest curve of her lips.

"I couldn't sleep either," she confessed with a soft smile, her eyes moving appreciatively over him as she listened to him play.

_Not without you by my side, _he knew she added but left unspoken. Studying her expression, he drank in the heart shaped contours of her face and alluring waves of her hair. He longed to hide in the sweet embrace of her arms and feel her love and comfort, reading an answering obsession in her that called to him. Her eyes shifted subtly to his lips, lowering to his chest and ending at the spread of his hands over the ivory. He modulated to a different key, remembering a tune he'd once heard her hum back when she tended his wounds. As she recognized it her posture shifted, then she moved closer and leaned her arms along the polished wood. Her gaze lifted to his and he smiled.

"Sing for me," he whispered, closing his eyes at the soft husky alto of her voice. It reached into his heart and squeezed the lift from him, and he found himself her willing victim. He listened closely to her sing, imprinting it upon his memory and praying never to forget its sound. He sensed her approach him, then felt her fingers brush his shoulder through the thin fabric of his shirt. Leaning into the music he repeated the ballad, listening to her joy spring forth and feeling her arms encircle his shoulders. As it ended he changed the key and began to play the music of the ancient liturgy, sharing this part of him that she knew so little of. Her arms tightened around him and he felt her cheek press against his temple as he played, though the pain of this music tore at his heart. Then he softly sang the prayers despite the fact that she would not know the language, yet her body molded against his back as she held onto him as if for protection.

He lifted his head and turned to look up at her, noting her closed eyes and the tear sliding down one cheek. She shuddered and loosened her hold on him, sliding a hand over his shoulder and down into his shirt where she pressed it over his heart.

"I can hardly bear the sorrow," she whispered into his ear before resting her lips against his neck. He shivered with pleasure and transferred keys from minor to major and into the classical realm.

"Perhaps something more cheerful," he said thickly, his fingers traveling lightly over the notes of a tune he had once been instructed by his mother to play as practice. She lifted her head to touch her temple to his, tightening her grip around him as she slowly exhaled.

"You're going back," she said simply, her voice catching upon the last word.

He lifted his hands from the keys and placed them upon his thighs. "I don't wish to."

"Then don't," she said, gripping him tighter.

He gripped her arms and leaned back into her embrace. "I've considered many options to prevent or delay it, none of which allow me any sense of conscience."

She choked back a sob and slid her hands down over his abdomen. "Then take me with you," she whispered as he turned and pulled her onto his lap. He groaned and kissed her in desperation, hearing only a few of her suggestions.

"I can sew notes inside garments and hats," she breathed against his lips, "or take a room in the city to keep my eyes and ears open."

"No," he sighed, running his hand into her hair to cup the back of her head.

"No one will suspect me gathering information for you—"

"Don't tempt me," he said hoarsely, picking her up and carrying her toward the sofa.

She crooked an arm around his neck and slid her other hand over his chest. "Then don't tempt me either," she scolded, kissing him eagerly.

He took her with him to sit down, feeling the warmth from the fire in the upholstered back of the furniture. She coaxed his shoulders back against the arm, sliding over him as they kissed with renewed urgency, finally momentarily spent. Gazing into the flames, they held each other and basked in the comfort of each other's arms as if for the last time. She laid her cheek upon his shoulder and he felt the trickle of moisture from her eyes dampen his skin. With his fingers gently sifting through her hair, he dampened down his desire and just held her.

"I've arranged a way for us to write to each other," he whispered against her temple.

She stiffened in his arms, laying a hand over his. "Is that safe?"

"As long as we can trust our contacts," he sighed. "But we must use only the initial of our first names, nothing more."

She relaxed a bit and nodded. "All right…I'll write to you every day."

He rested his head back, suddenly weary. "Once a fortnight is all we can risk, luv."

She lifted his hand between hers, kissing his knuckles and formulating a protest he knew she would voice. Instead she pulled his hand over stomach and held it low, turning her head to look up at him. He sensed her difficulty in deciding how to express what was on her mind.

"I'll want to know every detail concerning the changes," he said before she could do so, watching her lovely brows arch in surprise.

"How did you know?" she whispered, worry creasing her brow.

"I've known since the night he was conceived," he answered gently.

"But I had it all planned!" she quietly protested, gripping his hand. "I was going to tell you just before dinner, but you seemed to have other plans—"

He kissed her passionately, sliding his hand lower over their child as she trembled in response. "Show me instead," he whispered, lowering it to the hem of her night rail.

"Someone might see—" she squeaked in protest, pushing down her gown.

"Who, the owls?" he teased, complying with her wishes and settling back down against the arm of the sofa with her back in his arm. "We must enjoy each other while we can."

She sighed contentedly, then turned her head to look up at him. "You said _he_," she remembered, studying him carefully.

"Yes _he_," he admitted, kissing her temple. "And I'd like to name him Noah, if you agree."

She stared at him, smiling guardedly. "You have this all arranged, don't you?"

"Hardly," he told her. "But you could say I had a revelation of sorts."

"A revelation?"

He nodded. "I will say I was strongly impressed regarding the name…it means 'comfort' by the way."

She straightened to lift a hand to his hair, smoothing back the part that always seemed to fall over his brow. "I like the name," she smiled, "very much. But what if _he_ is a girl?"

"You choose," he suggested, somehow confident that it wouldn't be necessary.

"Let's see…Melanie?"

"That's pleasing enough—Melanie it is."

She kissed him tenderly and slid her arms back around him, nestling against him. They lingered there, reluctant to move and disturb the closeness they shared. After some time he turned his attention from the fire to kiss her temple.

"You make me feel whole," he softly confessed, resting his head back again as he held her gaze.

She placed a hand upon his cheek. "You make me feel safe," she smiled, turning her head as the mantle clock chimed twice. "And also very tired."

He lifted his back from the sofa and they sat up together, threading his fingers through hers as she tugged him up. Glancing toward the pianoforte, she thanked him for the music.

He touched her chin and lifted it for his kiss. "My pleasure," he whispered. "Now let's get up upstairs. You'll need your strength for the little one."

_**At the opposite edge of the lands encompassing New Hampshire, **_William Crote poured himself a stiff drink as he stared at the woman stretching out in his bed. She was everything a man could want and he'd given her nearly everything he owned, save for this house and his stocks in the business. Though she lifted a hand and waved lazily at him, he knew better.

"I'll pour you a glass of sherry, Bertie," he smiled wanly, setting aside his own glass.

"That would be perfect," she sighed, half sitting up in expectation and smiling when he stared at her barely covered nakedness. "Then we should really be getting some rest, darling."

He recapped the decanter and carried both drinks back to bed. "I'm not that old, you know," he teased, handing her the sherry before sitting at the edge of the bed.

She took it and drank a swallow, lifting a finger to brush her lips afterward. "Neither am I, but I need my beauty sleep; surely you can understand that?"

"You're beautiful enough already," he said as he planted a kiss upon her cheek.

She sighed and lifted the blankets for him to return. "Although appearance is not everything, now is it?"

He slid off his dressing gown and slid to her side, feeling inordinately pleased when she rested her upswept curls against his shoulder. "No, my dear, not everything—and wealth doesn't hurt a bit either."

She laughed throatily and drained her glass, draping herself over his chest as he squeezed her shoulders, pulling her close for a deep kiss. "Not a bit," she purred.

After a few moments of quiet he reached for her hand. "Move in with me, darling, now that my wife and I are separated."

She stared into his eyes, her expression mildly shocked. "Are you sure about that?"

He nodded. "I love having you here—I've grown bored with clandestine meetings outside of home."

"Ah, but that is where the excitement is," she pouted prettily.

"At least think about it; you can have your staff oversee things when you're here."

"I'll think about it," she breathed, nestling against him. "I do like the convenience of working and sleeping here, especially in the cold weather."

"Well, winter has nearly passed and spring is in the air," he announced, downing the remainder of his liquor. "I think we're both in the mood for a change, don't you?"

"Absolutely," she declared, kissing his cheek and sliding lower into his bed. "Why don't we discuss it on Sunday?"

"Very well," he agreed, reaching to extinguish the light, then turning to face her on his side.

"You've changed so much, William, since she left," she said thoughtfully. "It is a relief not to sneak around behind their backs."

The old familiar stab of jealousy hit him in the gut at her words. "'Their'? Don't you mean 'her'?"

She laughed seductively. "Of course I mean your wife—"

"Soon to be ex-wife."

"But Aaron's reappearing does present a significant problem," she stated. "You should be glad he took off for parts unknown."

He smiled craftily at her, though he wasn't sure she could discern it in the darkened room. "Oh I know exactly where he's gone," he lied.

"Really," she drawled, sounding sleepy. "Even so, he won't be around for long."

"No, I doubt he will," he sighed contentedly. "At least we can count on that."

"Maybe I will move in here," she breathed upon a yawn. "once you're sure he's left."

"I will see into the matter in the morning," he assured her, pausing to evaluate the lengths of her breaths until he knew she was asleep.

_Aaron will definitely need to keep his distance, _he vowed, tracing a finger gently along her temple as she slept. _If he does not, I've no chance of holding onto you, my dear… _

_c. 2008 by Christine Levitt_


	25. Chapter 25 The Interim

_**Chapter 25 **__**The Interim **_

_**He'd been gone only a week when she overheard Aaron's name whispered by the servants. **_Stopping short at the sound of it, she stood just outside the kitchens, listening to the animated yet half-whispered conversation of her new staff.

"It was only a matter of time before he found us," Bennett's hoarse whisper rose about the others, and she knew with chilling certainty to whom he referred.

"But an order was filed against him coming here," Mary, the new cook gasped, obviously having already been apprised of their situation. Ceara had thought her to be the quiet and unassuming one.

"That would never stop _him,_" Bennett hissed. "He's got most of the law in his good graces no doubt through an unseemly means."

"I heard him tell _her _that he knew where you all were," Ceara was astonished to hear Drea add in a loud whisper. _What on earth had prompted her to come all the way here?_ she wondered, leaning closer when the young woman continued. "I had to come warn you as soon as I knew!"

"Then it was a good thing you went against Master Aaron's wishes and did so," Mary whispered hesitantly. "Yet surely all of us can handle one bad relative?"

"He wouldn't come _alone_," Drea whispered meaningfully, causing a momentary hush to fall upon them all.

"No," Bennett sighed, "he would bring _her _just to make Mistress Florence upset again."

"But she's so much stronger and happy now," Mary reasoned, "and surely Miss Ceara won't tolerate that to hap—"

"What won't I tolerate?" she demanded, finally revealing herself. Their gasps of surprise and averted glances seemed adequate punishment, she decided as she folded her arms at her waist. Still, to disobey Aaron's wishes bordered upon rebellion, even the mild sort she suspected. "I couldn't help overhearing my husband's name mentioned."

"Please, Miss Ceara," Bennett pleaded, his face ashen, "we have nothing but the utmost respect and fondness for Master Aaron."

She lowered her arms to her sides, nodding her acknowledgement. "I know you do, Bennett."

"So do all of us," Drea said nervously as she curtsied. Waving off the formality, Ceara approached the table around which they gathered and sat down. "Now be seated, all of you, and tell me exactly what everyone so upset."

Bennett lifted his chin. "We beg your pardon, Miss Ceara—please forgive our rudeness."

She gestured for them to sit. "There is nothing to forgive," she announced, nodding to the elderly butler. "But please continue, Bennett—I share your concern if it is indeed true that Aaron's stepfather is planning a visit."

"Drea has been kind enough to ride all the way here to warn us of the possibility," he said apprehensively.

"Please forgive my buttin' in, Miss," she interjected, "but I think you understand the reason I felt I had to."

Ceara held her gaze and exhaled a tense breath. "I do—now tell me what has happened since we left."

She began to pace the room while all eyes followed her, beginning to recount her tale. "Things went bad quickly after ye all left," she related. "Miss Alberta moved in only three days after the Missus left, but she stayed the first night and snuck out before dawn."

Bennett dropped his forehead to his upraised hand, closing his eyes as Mary gasped in horror.

"I've tried to find another position but so far nothing," Drea continued. "Of course my main concern is for Todd, but the gossip is all over town! I feel like a marked woman just living there!"

Ceara stared at the tabletop, praying for Florence to be spared this news.

"She ordered a new gown made," Drea continued, "and Todd overheard the stableman say he was ordered to ready the coach for Saturday evening. We only found out the destination after I secretly bribed him."

"Good thinking," Bennett sighed, suddenly looking up sheepishly at Ceara, who despite her anxiety nearly laughed at the apparent contradiction in his behavior.

"It cost me more than a half-day's work, but I'm sure it will be worth the sacrifice!" Drea complained.

"I will see that you are reimbursed," Ceara assured her, earning their undivided attention. "As for this Miss Alberta…I'm not quite sure of her role in all of this, especially since you all seem to have known her for some time."

"That is regrettably true," Bennett stated.

Drea threw him a sympathetic look and pulled out a chair. "I was just a young girl when I first saw her, not more than Master Aaron's age—"

"This conversation might be better shared by Mistress Florence," Bennett decided, and Drea pursed her lips immediately.

"There you all are!" Florence breathed as she entering the room, only to stop short and gaze around her. Her color paled as she raised a hand to her throat. "What's wrong? Has anything happened to my son?"

"It's not Aaron," Ceara assured her as the staff abruptly got to their feet. Drea curtsied as did Mary, while Bennett bowed at the waist. She found herself getting to her feet as well.

"We were just getting ready to prepare lunch," Mary hinted, turning away at Bennett's gesture.

"I'll help you," Drea offered, following the older woman across the room toward the oven.

Florence turned to Ceara, raising her brows. "What has happened, Ceara?"

Holding her gaze a moment, she gestured to the chair which Bennett drew out for her. "I think we had better sit down."

She threw him a troubled frown. "Let me guess, Bennett—this involves William Crote."

He looked close to blushing, but nodded. "I'm afraid so, Madame."

"Drea rode all the way here to state that she believes he is planning a visit this Saturday evening," Ceara said carefully.

Florence sat down slowly, meeting Drea's forlorn look across the room. "I must admit that I'm curious as to how things went after we left; tell me everything. It won't be anything I haven't already feared or suspected."

"Are you sure, Madame?" Bennett said gently.

"I'm sure," she nodded, motioning Drea back to her side. "I won't even be shocked if he brings Alberta with him."

Sensing some eerie connection between Aaron and this woman Alberta, Ceara bent close to ask about it, but Florence nodded, patting her hand.

"I regret not apprising you of certain things, Ceara," she said quietly, "but they would be best discussed in private."

Feeling even more alarmed, Ceara nodded. "All right."

Florence glanced up at Bennett. "As for this Saturday evening, I would like our uninvited guests to find the finest meal and service ever given," she announced, nodding to Drea. "You my dear must stay for lunch today—and if it is all right with Ceara I would like to extend to you the position of our head housekeeper, if you might consider coming to work for us."

"Oh Mum!" Drea exclaimed, "I would be honored, even if the ride is far!"

"Don't misunderstand, Drea," Florence smiled, "ours is a live-in position, so you will have to move here with that precocious son of yours—I've missed him a great deal, incidentally. Had Aaron not infuriated my husband so he would have broken all your contracts in the same manner he did Bennett's."

"Todd would love to live here, away from the bullies town," Drea said happily. "And he so looks up to Master Aaron!"

"My son will be immensely pleased, and when he returns he can tell you that himself," Florence said confidently.

Drea bit her lower lip, looking suddenly troubled. "We're so sorry he had to return to duty, Mum, Miss Ceara too."

"We miss him terribly," Ceara stated, absently resting a hand over her abdomen, though she had yet to feel any movement as confirmation of the presence of their child. But the proof was confirmed by the continual absence of her monthly flow, as well as the sick stomach she now suffered each morning that thankfully her husband would not witness. It was just too embarrassing, she thought with an inward grimace.

"Then it's settled," Florence said, quickly changing the subject. "But say or do nothing until Saturday morning, when I will expect you to move here with your son. I will deal with Mr. Crote when he arrives for dinner."

"Thank you, Mum," Drea said, going to the stove at Mary's prompting to help her ready for lunch. "God bless ye."

Florence looked pointedly at Bennett. "Have Donald take your place on Saturday, but make sure he's well trained to deal with my former husband," she ordered. "You have that night off and I suggest you keep out of sight, at least while they're here."

Bennett looked immediately relieved, and bowed with his thanks before heading off toward the hall.

Florence turned to Ceara with a grim expression. "Well that's done," she said softly, covering her hand with hers. "Now we shall have our private chat in the parlor, dear."

"I will come for you when lunch is ready, Mum," Drea said over one shoulder, her smile bright.

"Thank you, Drea—I look forward to your moving in here. Have Mary introduce you to Donald, who will be sure you have help moving your things."

"Of course, Madam—my thanks to you again."

_**Aaron pressed deeper into the recesses of the closet, holding his breath as footsteps upon the floor planks came closer and halted. **_Closing his eyes and praying not to be discovered, he listened to the sounds of the others filing out of the tavern and bidding each other a good night. Yet one lingered behind, and he could smell the aroma of his fine cigar as its smoke filtering through the door separating them. His heart pounded in apprehension as he waited, preparing himself for the worst.

_Hanging would be a better fate than that rat hole of a cell_, he reasoned, remembering his time as a prisoner of war_. _As for the present, trials for treason were not worth the effort, leaving his end a predictable swing from the gallows performed with punctuality for thriftiness' sake. Though this was Loyalist territory, the British occupation of New York wore long upon its citizenry. As he pondered these things, the other half of his thoughts scrambled for clues as to who might have given this prominent Loyalist a reason to linger behind and perhaps doubt the safety of their meeting. No other reason could explain his tarrying, in Aaron's thinking.

"It's too risky," the man stated half-heartedly as his steps sounded back toward the direction he'd come. "Probably no fine whisky hidden here after all," he drawled.

Aaron pressed his ear to the closest wall, listening intently as he traveled slowly down the opposite corridor then stopped. The side door to the alley squeaked open, then banged closed and he was alone in the deserted tavern. Hanging his head in silent thanksgiving, he slumped against the wall in relief.

"No one suspected," he marveled, lifting a hand to massage his temple. His head ached and he prayed he was not coming down with the sniffling and coughing that plagued the general public. He'd put in a long day's work before coming here to blend with the crowd, later slipping away undetected to this hiding place.

Just to be on the safe side he waited another quarter hour before emerging from the closet to take the same route his predecessor had gone. Once the door opened he was greeted by a storm of icy rain and stood staring dejectedly at its nearly sideways fall, blown wildly by the wind. Finally mustering his strength he dashed down the alley to the trash barrel behind which he'd hidden his cloak. Drenched before he could fling it over himself, he ran along the less traveled streets under cover of the shadows, making his way back toward his rented room. It was a carefully mapped out route he'd taken a week to plan, checking it day and night to be sure of the hours it was patrolled by Regulars.

Glancing from side to side to check a crossroad, he curved his arm backward to raise the level of the notebook he kept tucked inside the lining of his coat. The tight fit of his left boot confirmed the presence of the stolen letters he'd slipped inside, confiscated from beneath the owner's second desk drawer. But the greatest booty his night raid claimed was the map he'd found hidden behind a painting on the wall and was now rolled tightly around the seam of his hat. Smiling despite his drenched clothing, he crossed the intersection, marveling at how his rivals managed to stay in business given their sloppy handling of such crucial information. But then again they did not suspect him of working for the opposing side.

By the time he climbed to his fourth story room his clothing clung to his shoulders and thighs, making him shiver for reasons other than his old affliction. Had his boots not been of superior quality his feet would have also suffered the same fate, for puddles of rain and melting snow lined the streets and walks of the neighborhood. His cloak, though of fine enough weave, was unable to repel the heavy rainfall; he made a mental note to bring along an oilcloth on his next outing, should there be one.

Feeling exhausted, he latched the door and turned to peel off his sodden clothing. Hanging it out to dry around the inefficient stove that was meant to warm his room, he considered this assignment more risky than being his former station in the wilderness. At least there he could enjoy the beauty and solitude of the forests and mountains, for which he longed for often than he cared to admit. There he'd grown accustomed to moving from place to place unhindered and far from many watchful eyes. Here one never knew what to expect or who was watching, nor for what reason. Burke apparently thought he needed the change if for no other reason than to keep his skills sharpened. So far he would play the role of a Tory silversmith looking for better clientele in the city, someone who put his politics beneath the desire to make a fortune among an upper class clientele of the King's best officers garrisoned here.

Sitting to pull off his boots, he thought of the changes his work necessitated, dictating that he work in cooperation with the clandestine gang handpicked for patriot intelligence in the city. Not only was city life challenging, but working with men who had been in the same position for far longer and did not always handle the strain required the utmost patience and discretion. Tempers flared and in this place the rebel caused seemed a very dim hope against Britain's best. He often wondered if he might be better suited to heading south to the front lines, for he'd heard of his old enemy Bloody Ben's success in routing patriot forces at Cooper River. Revenge was a powerfully motivating force, and he had to keep telling himself that justice was not his responsibility in the greater scheme of things. For now his eyes and ears would prove crucial in monitoring the occupied city, as were any plans he might enforce to help thwart the occupying army. For all he knew New York might be the next battleground, so he would do his best here until ordered to do differently.

Standing and reaching for a towel, he dried off his skin and padded barefoot to the bureau to pull out a nightshirt. Though he craved a hot drink he found himself too tired to go below and prepare one, so instead he lowered himself onto his narrow bed and glanced toward its crude linens.

_Definitely not the lap of luxury,_ he thought, glancing around his accommodations as a series of shivers overtook him. The attic room was cold and draughty despite being in a more respectable part of the city and near the shops and marketplaces the British officers liked to frequent. Though spring had technically arrived he thought the weather too cold, though still warmer than it would be back home. With that thought he settled himself in bed, pulling up two extra quilts and closing his eyes.

Willing the quick arrival of sleep as he had every night since leaving, after some time he was nevertheless left with the same frustration—missing his wife. With a groan of protest he turned to his side, punching the pillow for comfort as he lectured himself to avoid dwelling upon the past, particularly the exquisite pleasure of her embrace. Squeezing his eyes tighter his mind nevertheless swam with visions of her, as with the memory of her fragrance and sound of her voice.

Giving up, he turned again and stared at the dim glow from the woodstove, knowing sleep would be hard in coming. This need for her was growing and threatening everything he must do until the day he could see her again. He hadn't a furlough scheduled until another month, and began to contemplate an early retirement just to alleviate his misery in being parted from her. Even during the day he found himself distracted with thoughts of her should a reminder of her present itself in passing someone in the crowd who resembled her coloring or had a voice like hers. His only consolation was her first letter, which had arrived two days after his departure. She'd given him the disturbing news that his stepfather had made a call, obviously having located the address he'd worked so hard to hide from the man. Even worse, he'd brought Miss Alberta with him to, in Ceara's words, 'flaunt her' in his mother's face. But he knew better: Alberta had manipulated his stepfather into accompanying him. He worried what she would do or say to Ceara, and deeply regretted not having shared his troubled past encounters with the woman.

Flinging an arm across his face he groaned in remorse, yet part of him considered it wise that he had concentrated upon Ceara and the future instead of the past. Now, forcing himself to get up and retrieve her letter, he held it over the fading glow from the stove and read it yet another time. Only now he studied a different section of her letter, discerning the thinly veiled longing written therein. He'd posted his answer the day after receiving it, and looking up he nodded in approval for in it he'd expressed his feelings to an extent he never would have felt comfortable with before having met her.

"My heart is filled with longing to see you again," he whispered at his lonely accommodations, gazing toward the window. Gusts of wind splashed rain upon the panes, rattling the glass and piercing through the walls at whatever weak spots it could find. Yet he smiled, confident that his saying so would warm her heart. As he returned to his bed he reminded himself not to worry about her health, though her lack of explanation concerning her pregnancy bothered him. It had not taken them long to conceive, he was thankful, yet his being called back to duty left her alone and denied him the pleasure of watching her glow and change with their child's development.

Pursing his lips with frustration, he faced the fact that since he'd become both husband and father he would never be the same again. How he could continue working so far away he knew not. Given his past troubles with his stepfather, the irony of his desiring to return home to family did not escape him. But since Ceara his life had changed dramatically. He now had a reason not only to live but to also entertain the possibility of true happiness. They had a place to call home, and there he intended them to form good memories, those vastly different from his mother's oppressive marriage to her second husband. Because of Ceara he'd found a way to inherit his father's estate, and not for the first time thanked his own father for the wisdom of that stipulation. His parents had shared a good marriage there, and he could think of no better place to begin again, with his own wife and child. With that thought in mind he began to relax, his eyes watching the dimming glow of the embers of his old stove.

_**Alberta Forsythe stared coldly across the table at her,**_causing Ceara's stomach to knot with tension. Absently sliding her hand beneath the cover of her linen napkin, she curved it protectively over her child and held her gaze. Alberta's incredibly green eyes drifted away to Florence, who was masterfully guiding the conversation from a discussion of the meal toward the reorganization of the New Hampshire Line. Ceara studied her in profile, proud of her new mother-in-law as she aptly presided over the evening, completely disregarding their uninvited guests' intrusion. Her quiet strength was evident in the way she kept a calm expression on her face and was not afraid to establish eye contact with two people who had essentially become her enemies. The tension in the dining room was stretched tightly between the two women, yet Ceara sensed the real threat was in the darkly mocking behavior of the one may present for the meal: William Crote.

Ceara tore her gaze from Florence's calm demeanor to study the man she had previously only known from his shouting. She had been somewhat surprised by his handsome visage and impeccably dressed presentation, despite her newly acquired knowledge that he was a prominent banker in the colony and very influential in political circles. Switching her attention to Alberta, she judged the elegantly attired blonde to be his junior by at least a decade and a half. It puzzled her why Alberta's gaze upon him was filled with a hungry possessiveness she almost pitied, had the woman not been so blatantly rude.

"Well you seem to have settled in quite well here," he declared, finishing Aaron's second to best wine with a flourish and placing his glass upon the table.

"We have indeed," Florence stated, dabbing her lips gently with her napkin and placing it at the side of her place setting. Ceara watched her glance toward their server, a man who helped Bennett manage the household whose name was Donald. He too was not young, but middle aged and reportedly had a family of four to support. Well trained as he was, he nodded very slightly to her and began to clear the table.

"My husband is regrettably unavailable tonight," Ceara could not help stating, the first full sentence she had voice since their arrival. Hating the fact that no one, not even Florence, had mentioned their true host, she met William Crote's glare with what she hoped was cool indifference. "His presence is truly missed."

"Yes it is," Florence sighed after a moment's shock and hesitation, her gaze returning pointedly to Alberta.

"How unfortunate," she smirked, draining her own wineglass and motioning for more. But as Donald began to reach for the decanter her escort shook his head and he retreated. "It would have been interesting to see him, after all these years."

"Aaron is doing what he's always done best," William declared sarcastically, smirking at Ceara, "vanishing without a trace."

"My son has pressing responsibilities which demand his attention," Florence warned, reaching for Ceara's hand as she turned to face her. "We miss him a great deal and long for his soon return."

"Soon?" William choked as Alberta laughed huskily, his eyes pinning Ceara with disapproval. "Don't count on that, young miss—though why he would leave such a beautiful little wife all alone is beyond comprehension."

Nearly spitting in anger, Ceara pushed back her chair as Donald helped her. "You both come here uninvited and avail yourselves of our hospitality for the _last _time," she said as calmly as she could manage. Nodding to Florence, she thanked Donald and turned to leave the room, having tolerated all she could for one evening.

"Well, well…she has spirit," Alberta drawled after her, "that is one thing in her favor."

Groaning under her breath, Ceara stormed down the corridor and into the kitchens, alarming the staff who stopped what they were doing and stared at her. "Oh! I could throw something!" she growled, stomping toward the fire to warm herself. Her gown was new and of summer weight in anticipation of the coming spring, but she felt freezing.

"Here, Miss Ceara," Mary soothed, draping a shawl over her shoulders and patting her upper back. "Sit right here and say or do whatever you want—we feel the same way."

"Indeed we do," Bennett said quietly from his rocking chair. Over his lap was the latest billet, and he looked very much at home. "You are exceedingly brave for entertaining them."

"Bennett!" she gasped in a whisper, "I thought you'd be far from here tonight!"

"Don't worry, Mistress—neither of them would lower themselves to come here," he said with a faint smile.

"Thank the Lord!" she breathed, gathering the shawl close. "I don't know how Florence manages it so well."

"She's stronger than we all think," he winked, "especially with you and Master Aaron at her side."

"I certainly hope so," she shuddered. "Mary, why don't you make an appearance just to encourage her?"

"I will, Miss—and I don't care if they object or not," she nodded just as Donald appeared looking distressed.

"Oh there you are, Miss Ceara," he sighed in relief. "Is there anything I can do for you?"

"No Donald, you've done wonderfully," she waved in dismissal. "Just serve dessert and we'll all pray they leave soon."

"I'll help you," Mary stated, lifting the tray of sweets she'd prepared. "Take that pudding for me, won't you?"

"Gladly," he said, glancing at Bennett with a look of pure respect. "How you did it all those years, I'll never know."

"Nor will I," Bennett answered, returning to his reading.

_**Ceara brushed her hair with countless strokes, **_distracted by memories of what Florence had told her earlier that day.__Staring at her own reflection, she compared herself with Alberta's statuesque figure, fair hair and glorious eyes. The woman's behavior was rude and provocative, unlike anything she'd ever seen from a supposedly respectable woman. Feeling slightly ill to think of what had once transpired between her and Aaron, she leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes.

_Aaron was only fifteen years of age_, she still heard Florence's voice after their hushed and private talk in the library. During her account Ceara had glanced toward the piano, picturing him playing for her in that same room. Apparently he'd been playing the night it happened, having already achieved success as a concert pianist and composer even at that age. But according to Florence's account he'd never played again—not until he had played here, for her.

"Oh Aaron…" she whispered, tears filling her eyes. Too on edge to sit any longer she got up and paced the room, trying to understand him in light of what Florence had said. "Why couldn't you tell me, especially since you knew what I suffered myself? We aren't so very different my love, you and I…"

Moving toward the window she sat upon the cushion there, gazing out at the night sky which she knew he loved so much and longing for him anew.

_His father and I were at a holiday party at her estate,_ Florence had tried to explain, her expression filled with pain. _Had I known she snuck out, I never would have left him alone..._

"But why?" Ceara had asked her then, and repeated now in a whisper as she began to pray for him again. Aaron was very attractive, but a woman in her 20s seducing a young man of 14?

_They were only seven years apart in age,_ Florence had said. _She was stunningly beautiful but spoiled…all the boys and the men wanted her—all except my son. And Aaron was much more mature than the men her age._

Ceara reached out to touch the cold glass, looking beyond her fingertips to the fields dotted with remaining snow. She prayed he would come back sooner than expected, so great was her need to see him and hold him in her arms.

_She knew where William kept the liquor. Aaron was so absorbed in his music, he did not realize she was in the house. The drawing room was isolated from the rest of the house, and though Bennett was there he never would have interrupted his playing. She mixed liquor into his drink so that it was not noticeable to the taste. Aaron had never had alcohol before, and drank it only for politeness' sake—he told me later that he continued to play, hoping that ignoring her would bore her and she would leave. When she did not he asked her to leave, but she insisted she just liked listening. Even then, _Florence had sighed as she gazed at the piano he'd bought her, _his music had a way of entering the soul, stirring it to great emotion…_

"Yes, your music is remarkable," she whispered to him, wherever he might be. Perhaps he was gazing up at the same sky, as she was now.

_He wept when he told me, _Florence's whispers continued. _She was unusually strong for a woman…she knew no boundaries for decency when she wanted something. He told me how his mind swam and he felt sickened by the drink. This did not stop her, and she prevailed upon him, laughing at him when she was finished and he lay ill upon the floor. We did all we could to see her punished, but the law was on her side… _

"How could I have let her come here?" Ceara moaned, though Florence had insisted that they would never have any peace until William came and saw whatever it was he wanted to see. She promised to tell Aaron herself, assuring her that he would understand why they had to allow the visit. But Ceara was not so sure. Covering her ears with her hands, she wept as the memory of the account haunted her again.

_You must understand his torment, _Florence had stated, taking her hands between her own. _He could never tell anyone, so great was his humiliation. F or years I despaired of seeing him have a healthy relationship with other women, thanks to Alberta— but now he has you. I see how you love him, and it is obvious how much he loves you. He will be angry that I allowed her in this house and near you. But you must know the truth, Ceara, for she will lie to you in order to lead you to doubt his love, but you mustn't believe her lies…_

Taking several deep breaths, she tried to dispel the nausea churning her stomach. Her heart pounded and she laid her forehead upon the cool glass. Anger welled up inside her at the injustice of the situation. Her own molestation had been traumatic as well, but the hunter who rescued her had taken it upon himself to shoot her attackers dead. Sad as it was, she had felt a sense of justice in that, something Aaron would probably never have. Not as long as Alberta was near.

Wiping her eyes she got up and collected herself. Going to the secretary she took out Aaron's letter and walked to their bed, pulling of her robe and stepping up with the aid of the stool. Settling herself on his side of the bed, she turned toward the light and unfolded it, reading it again in an effort to comfort herself. She studied his bold handwriting, noting with admiration the perfectly executed penmanship of which she had previously been unaware. Upon reading it again she concentrated upon the words that revealed an important clue into her husband's heart. This was the remedy she needed, and as she smoothed her hand over her abdomen she felt hope once again. This time she read it aloud in a soft voice.

_My dearest C,_

_I trust that this post finds you in good health, and that our little one enjoys the same, cradled within your loving care (how I envy him). Here the days are long and filled with activity, for the market for good craftsmanship is a knowledgeable and demanding one. Nights are longer still in a cold and lonely place I refuse to call home. Only the memory of our time together brings some solace, though in truth I would rather have you near in more than dream or vision. Know that I think of you while awake and asleep where you haunt me and tempt me to abandon the prosperity of this enterprise in hopes of seeing one glance from your eyes or hearing one note of your voice. You have caused me to anticipate a reunion which cannot come soon enough._

_Please give my fondest regards to F., and of course to N…_

_Your loving husband,_

_A_

Pressing it over her heart, she lowered the light and sighed dreamily, remembering not only their first time in each other's arms, but their last as well. Closing her eyes, she prayed the Psalms over her husband and baby Noah, resting in faith for a better future for them all.

c. 2008 by Christine Levitt


	26. Chapter 26 The Silversmith

_**Chapter 26 The Silversmith**_

_**Aaron set aside the sample flatware and pulled out another tray of designs, **_folding aside the cloth to reveal the silver for the older couple to see. He watched the man pull out his spectacles as he bent to examine them, ignoring his wife's exclamations of delight. Raising a warning hand to the other customers who crowded closer to see, he asked for their patience while his own impatience mounted. The shop was crowded and stifling hot, and he had to press up against the display cases to avoid blocking the apprentices who scurried behind him along the length of the counter to help meet the demand. The late day crowd had poured into the streets with a celebratory spirit thanks to the apparent success being enjoyed by British troops in the Southern arena. While the patriot cause dwindled the Royalists in New York partied, their dinners lavish and fiercely competitive in an effort to impress the occupying forces of the King. The more extravagant the celebrations were the more orders they needed to fulfill, and keeping up with the social elite of the city was proving difficult at best.

Glancing over at his partner, he grimaced as the man cuffed one of the boys on the ear to hurry him along. Prone to outbursts of anger, Arthur Biggs cared little for his workers, the thought that his humiliating treatment of them was bad for business never having crossed his mind. Aaron had tried to reason with the man on countless occasions to protect the boys, whom he judged to be especially loyal and hard working, but to no avail.

Bending to retrieve several ornate tankards for a naval officer, he set those upon the counter for inspection and turned to the woman shouting she was ready to order. Jotting down her materials, name and address on the order sheet, he informed her of the total and estimate for delivery, again apologizing for the long wait before it would be fulfilled. Biggs rang the warning bell and he pursed his lips, readying himself for the frenzied response that always came of late. Shouting out their objections and begging for more time, the people crowded more insistently along the counter. His heart started to pound and his throat went dry with the old fear of confined spaces, so much so that he gazed toward the windows of the shop and focused upon the streets beyond in an effort to calm himself. _Only a few more minutes before they clear out…_

"That's all folks," Biggs shouted good naturedly, motioning to the boys to go lock the doors. "Everybody not being served at the moment must come back on Monday at eight o'clock in the morning! That's final!"

Aaron took the older couple's order and began to put away the display samples, then turned to accept the officer's coin in payment for one of the display tankards. He half turned to hide the transaction from his partner, explaining that they rarely sold displays but would make an exception in his case. The man smiled happily and saluted him.

"You understand I'll not be in port long enough to wait for my own," he stated.

Aaron nodded and finished polishing the tankard before wrapping it for him. "Maybe next time," he said though he doubted the man could hear.

Accepting his purchase, the man leaned closer. "I'll help you clear out some of the riff raff," he confided with a smile before heading toward the door and clearing a path for himself. "You heard the man—time to leave, everyone—you may return on Monday!"

Finishing up with his last four customers, Aaron realized that they had been working late into the night three times over the past week in an effort to keep up with demand. With a nod to the family turning to leave, he faced the next customer admitting that although it was exhausting the work helped to pass the time. As of late his intelligence work was at a lull as everyone laid low due to the recent influx of troops and tightening of curfews. Gathering and disseminating information right under the enemy's nose had been risky before, but now it was getting nearly impossible. His last assignment had nearly gotten him caught as he waited for the courier to find him in a dense fog. The system of relaying information from one rider to another sounded good in theory but in practice he found it fell far short of practicality. He had been forced to wait an additional two hours before meeting the man, and on his way back he'd been stopped by a patrolling guard who seemed to materialize out of nowhere. Had he not pretended to be a madman he doubted he would have been let go. Thankfully the guard was nearly off duty and had no patience left for his muttered bursts of laughter and anger. Even without the patrols the public grew more diligent in keeping night curfews and were eager to turn in any suspicious persons not identifiably royal to the crown. The extra work provided a chance to stay in at night and protection against falling into the hands of bored guards who tended to amuse themselves in inappropriate ways. Living alone in the city made him miss his wife and mother, and the old restlessness tempting him to move along only increased his urge to be transferred elsewhere.

He watched a young couple head for the door and felt a stab of regret for abandoning Ceara, deciding that it would be worth a sabbath's day journey North for a quick visit home. The gang would not approve, but he planned on slipping out of the city even before they noticed. Ceara had written nothing of her condition and the lack of information troubled him more than he cared to admit. Her last letter was already over three weeks old, further setting him on edge.

At the second bell's sounding he collected the order slips and shoved them into the cash box for Monday's sorting while the couple hesitated to gaze longingly at the more expensive pieces. Thankfully most of the crowd was exiting the shop, yet he was suddenly overcome with the impression of being watched. Glancing up at the people still half filling the room, he noted no one in particular, and fixed his attention beyond the windows to the street beyond. If someone was watching him he would exit the back way and try to view the opposite side of the street from the alley. Even as he formulated this plan he felt a familiar prickling along the back of his neck and scalp which always seemed to accompany being observed. Returning to New York had brought with it the risk of someone recognizing him from before, and now he felt sure that he had been discovered.

As the boys locked up the cabinets he braved one last look toward the door, resolving to display no emotion should he catch the watcher in the act. As his eyes swept the far end of the room he stopped short, eyes locked with another's. His breath caught as they stared at each other in immediate recognition. Tightening his grip upon the counter, he fought to keep from reacting as he narrowed his gaze.

_**Beneath the steel gray disapproval in his eyes **_her heart pounded in her throat as every nerve in her body responded to the intensity of that gaze. Vaguely aware of the people pressing past her on their way out of the shop, she was nearly knocked off balance but held her ground. Rude elbows pressed against her sides and her hip suffered a few bumps from shopping boxes as she took a step in the opposite direction. Despite the flare of disapproval in his eyes she approached him as he suddenly moved along the counter and flung open the half door separating shopkeepers from clientele. Undaunted, she held her course until he reached out and gripped her arm, ignoring the protests of the other customers and his fellow workers. Hauling her behind the counter he urged her along until they passed through a side door and entered a long dimly lit corridor. She had to walk close to a run just to keep up with him as she wrestled her arm inside his grasp until they reached a staircase. Half dragging her up the creaky stairs he released her at the first landing, stepping close to tower over her with a formidable glare. They both panted heavily as he shoved his hands upon his hips and she crossed her arms over her stomach. His eyes swept down her boyish disguise, halting abruptly at the place where her arms rested over her half parted coat. The slightly protuberant mound of their child beneath her baggy clothing captured that intense glare until she saw something in his expression twist with regret. Lifting astonished eyes to hers he stared at her, his arms dropped to his sides as his lips parted.

"I'm sorry," he panted, the anger in his expression fading toward irritation only to be replaced by shock, then awe as he gazed back at the slight bulge in her clothing.

She studied him openly, feasting her eyes upon him as she judged the daring boldness of her coming here well worth the effort. Slowly unfolding her arms she met his uplifted gaze and saw his eyes heat with the desire she had so missed during their separation. Resisting the impulse to reach up and push back the hair falling over his right temple, she shifted her eyes from his downward, over his lips and ending at the loose flap of his dampened shirt where his chest still heaved. Being a man in his prime she knew he was angry, for rushing from the showroom and up these stairs would not have winded him so. Yet trusting the former bond between them she reached for his hand and lifted it to cover the place where their child had just begun to make his presence visibly evident.

"No need to worry about Noah," she breathed, hoping to reassure him that running had not harmed the baby, so troubled did he seem. "He's growing stronger every day."

She felt his hand curve around her slightly rounded belly. "Dear God," he panted, his expression a mixture of horror and wonder. "I had no idea—"

"You've been gone for months," she sighed, studying the lines of strain upon his face._ And dealing with a great deal of distress, _she realized, wondering what the cause was.

He looked up, his eyes darkening before he lowered his gaze to her lips. These she licked in anticipation with the tiniest swipe of the tip of her tongue. His eyes shot up to hers and the moment hung in the balance. Then suddenly he reached out and hauled her into his arms, his mouth covering hers as she rose on tiptoe to welcome him. Gripping his arms for balance she felt his hand cup the back of her head as he kissed her with ardent desperation.

Just as eager for his touch, she nudged the heel of her boot back and upward to gauge the rise of the stair. Then stepping up onto it she pulled at his shoulders and pressed against him, better able to reach him at the increased height. The baby nudged against his lower abdomen as if reminding father of son, and his kisses eased into tenderness as his hand smoothed gently over it between them.

"It's seemed like years," he finally admitted, slowly pulling back to gaze into her eyes. "But tell me, what brings you here against your husband's express wishes?"

She slid her hand inside his collar, loving the strength of his body and noting how damp his skin felt from the unusually hot weather. Looking up despite the boy's cap that slid down over her eyes, she smiled happily. "I had to come—it was a matter of life or death."

He choked back a laugh and shook his head, pulling her against him. "Life or death?" he said doubtfully as they heard footsteps thundering toward them. Burying her face against his chest, she held onto him despite the fact that their presence had without a doubt been discovered. One covert peek beyond his shoulder revealed the man and two apprentices who stood staring up at them in shock. Then she remembered how she was dressed and started to pull away and explain herself. Aaron tightened his arms around her, warning her to let him handle things.

"Aaron!" the older man barked in obvious disapproval. "I had no idea…"

He eyed the open mouthed stares of the boys and she felt him stiffen with remorse. Yet to her surprise he nodded curtly in response. "So now you know."

Too stunned by his blatant omission in clarifying her sex, she gripped his arm. "Aaron—"

"This partnership is hereby canceled," the silversmith growled, pointing a finger at them. "You should be ashamed of yourselves, both of you—and how old are you, young man?"

"Leave it," Aaron warned him, turning to climb the next set of stairs with her in tow. "I'll settle accounts with you on Monday."

"Can't be too soon!" he shouted back in disgust, shoving the boys back up the hallway. "And you had such promise," he shouted back, though they were already out of sight.

Aaron guided her along the top level toward an opposite staircase as they heard a door slam far below, leaving them in silence. At the top of the stairs Ceara halted and shook off his hand. Pushing back her cap she eyed him irritably.

"Why didn't you tell him the truth?" she accused, despite the formidable set of his jaw.

He reached for her hand and they started down the stairs. "I cannot afford to have him suspect the fact that I have a wife—"

"And son," she added with a huff.

"—which is the reason I warned you this would be difficult."

"I'm sorry—" she cried, gripping his arm. "I just wanted to catch your eye so you wouldn't turn and attack me when I followed you home—"

"Follow me home?" he said, turning to her at the bottom of the stairs and running a hand through his hair. "Have you any idea how dangerous it is for you to be here, let alone wandering these streets alone?"

"I do—that's why I disguised myself!"

"Never mind—how on earth did you get into the city?"

"Cecily invited me—she's brought Matthew along on Caleb's business trip—"

"You came here with _Caleb Godwin_?" he said with a quiet roar, his eyes shifting to check their surroundings. With one glance that told her he wondered if she had lost her mind, he turned and began to pace, something she'd never seen him do.

Biting her lower lip, she joined him, staying close by his side in an effort to explain. "I never told them you were here—I wouldn't do that!"

He shook his head and continued pacing. "Should I be relieved by such news?"

"They think I went to visit an old friend—they aren't even in the city today! Caleb had a meeting on the island with one of his partners and they are staying the night. I've even got my own room at the hotel, where we plan to meet each other for dinner tomorrow—"

"How festive," he said absently, obviously searching for a solution to the problem of her presence.

"But now that I've found you, we can spend the night there together!" she said hopefully, almost picturing them together in her hotel room in complete privacy.

He stopped abruptly to study her, tilting his head to one side. "You are maddeningly efficient, I grant you that," he breathed. "How on earth did you ever find me?"

She smiled sweetly. "A woman can sense things which cannot always be explained."

He raised his brows. "You must have spent the entire day checking all the shops, but now that you've found me don't assume we can spend a night on the town."

Her hopes fell, though she tried to hide her disappointment from him. "The thought did cross my mind."

He sighed in frustration. "It's far too risky for me, and I will not endanger your being found out by your family—"

"But the city is enormous, and you even stated that no one suspects you have a wife…"

"Though I would deeply enjoy lavishing an evening out upon you, I am not at liberty to do so."

"Who might see us, one of your secret friends who probably have no idea what _you_ look like?"

"I prefer to leave it that way."

She gripped his arms and rose upon her toes to whisper toward his ear. "I've a lovely room in the hotel," she breathed, feeling his hands clasp her waist. "It's very private, and _Caleb_ paid for it…"

He pulled back just enough to gaze into her eyes. "Then you and he have declared a truce?"

"I had to—it was the only way to keep the peace and see my sister," she answered, lightly brushing her hand down his chest. "And I can hardly fault him for forcing us to marry, can I?"

He stared at her lips a moment, dragging his eyes up to look her in the eye. "Despite the admirable way you've handled yourself I cannot allow myself to be tempted, even by you—"

"Aaron please, I lov—"

"And surely you know that I cannot act so carelessly in our present circumstances."

She lowered herself to the floor and pouted up at him. "I would think you'd wish to protect me, now that I am all alone in the city."

"I plan on doing exactly that," he informed her, taking her hand to lead her toward the door. "Now tuck your hair back in pretend you're an apprentice leaving work—"

"But Aaron—"

"Head in the direction of your hotel—I'll be following at a distance," he said quietly as they reached the door, where he placed a hand upon its frame.

"Aren't we going to your home?" she whispered, looking up at him in confusion.

His eyes lit with a strange glow as he pushed open the door, beyond which she caught a glimpse of dark, filthy alley. He pursed his lips and glanced away. "First there is something I need to show you."

_**Glancing over at him beneath the cover of the prayer shawl, **_she moved her lips and pretended to join Aaron and the others in the recitation of prayers.__With his profile similarly hidden from sight she was forced to study his hand where it rested upon his draped knee. It was a strong and capable hand, one that had caressed her with the gentlest of touches yet could be used as an instrument of war. Biting her lip at this irony and chastising herself for the direction of her thoughts, she turned her attention forward once again to the bema where the teacher stood leading the responsive readings, to which everyone replied in a language unknown to her. At her side Aaron shifted, his hand once again capturing her attention as he lifted it to drape the shawl back over his shoulder from where it had no doubt slipped. His head was bent over the book he held and she could discern his voice despite its low volume. The hand drifted back to his knee, where the long white fringes of the shawl slid silkily down over his breeches. As if noting her attention he turned his head and met her gaze, continuing to recite and revealing that he knew the service by memory. Suddenly everyone rose and they stood side by side for what was surely the tenth time since they had arrived. Following his lead she swayed gently and then all fell silent. Grasping the back of the seat before her, she stood praying that her stomach would not growl. It had been hours since she last ate and her pregnancy had increased her appetite a great deal of late. To distract herself she kept her head low but glanced around the sanctuary for not the first time, admiring its beauty.

The rows were of polished mahogany seats surrounding the sanctuary and facing the raised platform upon which the leaders stood. It was dimly lit by candlelight, but high above she could see the stained glass windows which were undoubtedly beautiful in sunlight. The large candelabra which stood upon the table next to the leader bore seven large candles that glowed brightly beneath another light suspended high above. To her left she glanced up at the balcony where the women and children were seated, all remarkably quiet. Feeling guilty despite Aaron's insistence that she stay at his side, she nevertheless was grateful that she was dressed as a boy and could stay with him for this momentous experience. Still, somewhere in the back of her mind she felt that her disguise was sacrilegious in such a holy setting. With a silent prayer that God would forgive her she sat with him when the standing prayer had finally been somehow completed. It was surprisingly crowded on a Friday night, the seats filled with rows of white prayer shawl dressed men which bobbed like white capped waves of the sea. At her left sat an elderly man who could barely rise above his bent over posture, and she tried not to be distracted by his obvious discomfort. Instead she glanced up at her husband, her mind filled with questions she could not ask.

It had taken some time to reach this place, particularly given the circuitous route through the alleys which they had taken. Having entered this building via the back door he had turned in silence to tug her cap lower over her eyes while she buttoned her coat over the baby. Taking her hand, he'd led her up a narrow staircase and draped a large prayer shawl over her, then himself. His only words to her were whispered close to her ear:

"Bear with me a while longer, luv—then I'll take you home."

_Home?_ she wondered, remembering the twinkle of amusement which had lit his eyes before he had turned and led her into the sanctuary. The service had already begun, but he led her to the third row from the back and chose a bench, silently handing her a book which she opened and he quickly turned upside down, or so she had thought. Nothing within its pages was written in English, and when she leafed through its contents his hand reversed the order until she grew too frustrated and slid it back into the holder before her. To her great embarrassment he chuckled softly, alerting the elderly man seated in front of her, who turned just as they bowed their heads further beneath their shawls. Now, glancing up at him as they rose once again, she caught a glimpse of his profile and noted the stern displeasure in his expression, wondering what had soured his mood.

_Part of his appeal is his mystery,_ a tiny voice whispered in her thoughts as he pulled his shawl over his forehead once again. Not only was he mysterious, she agreed, but everything in this place held an air of mystery and awe. She could not deny that something within her responded to the warm and peaceful feeling of this place, its language and the tunes of the melodies both ancient and haunting in sound. As she pondered the strange familiarity of her surroundings she realized that the service was ending, and everyone began to file quietly out into the aisle and toward the foyer. Aaron reached out to nod and shake a few hands while she followed close behind him, head bowed. Thankfully no one questioned her presence, nor did he offer any introductions as he led her off in a different direction and out a side door. Back in the foyer but at its farthest edge he sped toward another staircase, this one leading up. Once they were within its dark confines she felt his hand touch and clasp hers as they climbed, yet at the top of the stairs he released it and rapped quietly upon a closed door. It opened immediately, surprising her, and though she was flooded with apprehension she followed him inside, stepping aside as he shut it behind them.

A man looked up from his bent over position, his hand inside a desk drawer neither of them could see. He cleared his throat and said something to Aaron in their language, to which he replied shortly and quietly. The man glanced in her direction, then back to Aaron, asking about her presence. He answered and the man waved dismissively at her, lifting a silver object and holding it out to Aaron. They spoke of it for a few moments, then Aaron took it and tucked it inside his jacket pocket, after which he gestured for her to leave. They moved back out into the hall when the man stopped them.

"Next time come alone," he complained, to which Aaron only nodded. "I can't afford anyone else involving themselves."

"It could not be avoided," her husband answered, closing the door behind them and leading her back down the stairs.

She followed him out a different exit and they walked in silence along the shadowed streets where no lamplight flooded the way. Having waited for his explanation and receiving none, she finally took his arm despite her better judgment and looked up at him, noting the familiar pursing of his lips which betrayed his frustration.

"So this is the kind of work you do," she said quietly, watching him survey their surroundings with fleeting glances. Finally his gaze rested upon her face, but in the darkness she could not read his expression.

"A part of it," he admitted, nodding for them to turn a corner. "One more stop to deliver this, then we're finished."

"I'd like to wait outside," she said, releasing his arm and widening the distance between them.

He sighed in frustration and shook his head. "All right—it will only take a moment."

They walked in silence a ten blocks before he led her into another alley, stopping at the second door which he opened with some effort. It was warped and creaked loudly, but the noise from the adjacent street was enough to mask its sound. He stepped up and into a tiny hallway, and she watched him remove the silver object from his pocket. His hand smoothed down the wall and suddenly a tiny door sprang open, into which he put the object. Quickly shutting it, he glanced past her into the alley and she knew he was finished. They made their way down the alley and crossed several streets until he reached into his back pocket and withdrew a key. Pausing above a set of six stairs which led to the basement of a large brick building, he stretched out his arm for her to precede him. She stopped before a narrow door and pressed against the wall as he unlocked it and shoved it open. Stepping inside, she crossed the room while he lit a lamp and locked the door behind them.

Having taken a quick inventory of the large room, she decided this was his flat and turned to face him. In the glow of the lantern his eyes were incredibly beautiful, she noted with a soft smile, waiting for him to come closer. When he did she reached out and laid a hand upon his chest. To her delight he slid his arms around her and pulled her into his embrace, one hand tipping up her chin to receive a tender kiss. Then he reached up and removed her cap, then the pins holding up her hair. She unfastened his waistcoat and inserted a hand inside, feeling the dampness of his shirt. The room was thankfully cooler than the outside humid weather, and when he removed her coat for her she felt as if a great weight had fallen off her body. His arms extended behind her, she heard it drop to the floor and raised her hands to clasp his forearms. He stopped to gaze down at her, his eyes full of questions.

"Thank you for taking me to your service," she said quietly, smiling gently. "It was beautiful."

His lips curled slightly before they parted. "You didn't understand a word, did you?"

She shook her head slowly, sliding her hands up his arms to rest upon his shoulders. "I confess to wondering why you hid that beautiful silver piece in a dingy old alley hole."

"Ah," he breathed, threading a hand into her hair and tilting her chin up, 'that my dear must remain undisclosed, but I do wish to welcome you informally into the network."

She toyed with his open collar, holding his gaze. "Network?"

"Yes," he sighed, "and congratulations are in order—you have just unofficially aided the Culper Gang of New York."

_**Aaron slowly dragged his eyelids open, trying to focus his gaze in the bright light. **_His arm was asleep, the one cradling his wife's body to his. Flexing his fingers, he tried to reawaken the feeling in his hand but to no avail. So with great care he slowly slid it from beneath her shoulder, finally stretching it out to one side until the needlelike pain began to subside. With his movements she stirred, curling back into his one-armed embrace and turning her head into his neck. He kissed her forehead and rested back into the pillow, whispering his thanks for this short span of time to be alone with her once again, even if she had to bear with the sparse furnishing to which he'd grown accustomed.

His room was in the basement of what had once been a grand home but was now let out to tenants, the owners having befallen hard times not uncommon for the newly rich. He'd passed by it once while making a delivery, and was grateful that the landlord had only to hear that he was a silversmith before renting it to him. Rooms had become hard to come by with newly arriving reinforcements filling the city in anticipation of either a major offensive from General Washington or more deployments to the Southern arena of the war. He shared a bath with only one other tenant, an elderly woman and her middle aged daughter. But the laundry service and food were adequately provided and it was reasonably clean and in good repair. No one troubled or noted his comings and goings, and when he was there he had never been disturbed. It was, he deemed, perfect for a secret rendezvous with his wife.

Turning his face into her hair, he inhaled its fragrance and tried to remember the details of their argument upon arrival the night before. His warning that disguising herself and coming after him must hereafter cease fell upon deaf ears, but in hindsight he eyed the slightly protruding stomach where their child grew and took comfort by assuming such masquerades would no longer be possible should she consider repeating the offense. It troubled him a great deal that her sister and brother-in-law were to meet her for dinner at her hotel, for Caleb was unpredictable and obviously loyal to the crown and his wealthy clientele. Ceara had insisted that their marriage must be based upon trust and that he must extend to her the same amount of faith she had extended to him in honoring his commitments to his work. Unable to disagree with that rationale, he had expressed his hopes that her present condition was to blame for accentuating her normally impulsive nature but that upon delivery she should not be so rash and cavalier with her own safety.

"Cecily is delighted at the prospect of becoming an aunt," Ceara had told him, her eyes snapping with blue fire. "I value her experience and in your absence need my sister to help me through the pregnancy. And Caleb sends along his heartfelt congratulations, Aaron—so just as I must deal with your family, so must you deal with mine!"

"And how did you explain my absence, leaving behind my pregnant wife?" he had wanted to know. To which she had explained that he too, not unlike Caleb himself, had clients in the Albany area and was also traveling on business. All these details she had organized with the skill of a general facing battle, and he had found arguing with her further a worthless pursuit. Once Ceara set her mind to something, he now knew with growing certainty, there was little anyone could do to frustrate her. And she had masterfully switched the subject by convincing him that he nevertheless was glad that she had come.

Feeling the slow slide of her foot along his shin, he settled her more comfortably in his arms, sighing contentedly and resting his hand gently over the outline of his son. Ceara half turned for his kiss and he found that the desire they shared so readily fired hotly yet again. He had missed her a great deal, and with an uncertain future before him succumbed to his need for her comfort. Sliding his hand teasingly over her softness he met her sleepy gaze with a silent plea until she turned in his arms and answered him with a deeply stirring kiss. Pulling her atop him, he molded them together with a groan of pleasure, loving the sound of her gasp of pleasure and the way she lifted her arms to embrace him. The pregnancy had changed her in subtle ways, making her skin glow with color and her hair shine even more radiantly. Her hunger for him nearly matched his own, and instead of being hindered by her condition she was gloriously free and not at all shy in expressing her love. Their times together had been few and far between, and facing yet another separation made their love more desperate and therefore more thrilling. Giving himself over to the exquisite magic flowing between them, he took no regard of time or place as his mind focused only upon her, with the exception of the babe held suspended between them. Taking great care for his safety as well, they experimented with new forms of sharing the love they felt for each other. And when they fell asleep again in each other's arms, he knew he had found true contentment for the first time in his life.

_c. 2008 by Christine Levitt_


	27. Chapter 27 Yorktown

_**Chapter 27 The Surrender**_

_**October, 1781**_

_**Absently smoothing a hand down over her protruding stomach, Ceara settled herself upon the cushions at the window seat and tore open his letter. **_So much had happened since the time they had spent together in New York, now so long ago in her mind. But she thanked God for that brief interlude with him which carried through all the lonely nights since her return home. With a worried frown she judged the infrequency of his correspondence to be a sure indicator that he had been transferred south, as Jamie had been. Her brother's first and only letter had arrived shortly after her return from New York, originating in the colony of Virginia. So it was that with a prayer for their protection she opened and scanned Aaron's letter, tracing the letter A which ended it before returning to the beginning to carefully read each word.

"_Dearest Ceara" _she read aloud, substituting her name for the written C as she glanced down at the great swell which was now her stomach. "That is your Mama's name, though Papa is not at liberty to write it out," she explained to Noah. With a sigh she focused upon her husband's neatly written script, refusing to dwell upon the soiled and wrinkled appearance of the paper.

"_Though many weeks have passed since we last saw each other, it seems like an eternity. I miss you more than words can express, and long to return to hold you in my arms once again. Memories of our times together, as well as the hope for N's safe delivery, are all that anchor my sanity, given the extreme circumstances of what is now my fate."_

Alarmed at the tone of that last sentence, she glanced out the window and slowly got up. Feeling enormous and uncomfortable she nevertheless began to walk in order to ease the pressure upon her low back. Trying to steel herself for the worst, she told herself to prepare for what she sensed was about to be revealed concerning the course his life had recently taken. In a way, she was not so sure she wanted to know.

"Papa must use the letter N for your name," she stalled, gently rubbing her stomach as if to soothe the baby. "But when he returns he will call you Noah, the name which God gave him for you…"

Talking to their baby was a habit in which she indulged, yet only in private. "People would think me addled, if our little conversations were made public," she thought aloud, slowing her steps as she paced the length of their room. "I believe you can hear me already though and that, like your father and I, you are also most eager to speak face to face."

Though she'd not felt him move in some time she trusted Cecily's advice written to warn her that a cessation of movement meant the baby would soon be ready. It made sense, for by now he was nearly fully grown and had little room to move much, certainly nothing more than a small kick now and then.

She sighed and glanced out the window, grateful for the chance to have reconciled with her sister and brother-in-law in New York. Despite Aaron's reluctance to trust them she needed her sister in his absence. Had Caleb proven the patriot he insisted he was, she would be free to invite them to visit and perhaps have her sister here for the delivery. Aaron's mother would no doubt help, but she felt more comfortable with her sister at least in her own mind.

Tempted to indulge in self pity at her virtual solitude, she lowered herself back into the rocking chair purchased for nursing Noah. Then, lifted Aaron's letter once again, she took a deep breath and silently read the next paragraph.

"_Though I cannot share my whereabouts with you, know that the distance between us is far too great for me to come to your side at a moment's notice. That does not prevent me from imagining myself doing that very thing in order to console myself in our separation. I pray you are healthy, strong and resolute and that God willing I might be there to witness our son's entry into life. If I am not please surround yourself with the best available assistance, and of course Mother will be there to coach you assuming her health continues to improve. I thank God for the blessing of two such strong women to grace my life. Not knowing what the future holds, I must cling to my faith in a safe delivery, as well as to the certainty that you and N will fulfill your days whether in my presence or not."_

Swiping at the tears streaming down her cheeks, she choked out a protest against that last statement and leaned toward the window which faced a southern exposure. Vowing to see him come walking up the road once again, she clutched his letter to her chest.

"Dear God," she whispered, "what must he be enduring, to suffer such desperation? Please bring him home to us, protected by your mercy and care."

Then, with shaking hands, she curled it away fro her breast and continued to read.

"_I wish I could state that our efforts are moving us toward a final resolution, but unfortunately we have been reduced to laying siege while awaiting reinforcements and aid. My men are sadly ill equipped and, even worse, have for the most part never experienced war, so young are the foot soldiers I've been given to guide and guard. The days are endless and filled with horror, as many have been lost. Those who are not lost suffer severe wounds of the type which cause perhaps a grief greater than that of death. Our ears are haunted by countless cries for mercy and death no longer seems so much of an enemy..._

_Aside from this heavy burden we alternate between periods of prolonged boredom and intense engagement, the latter involving artillery exchange with the capacity to steals one's hearing for hours and tempt one to panic and run. It is a cruel irony that I once longed for being on the front lines, weary from working alone and in secret when by comparison I enjoyed a far lighter duty than this. It is striking how long I've lingered in the business of war, for at my age I should have already been sent out to pasture. Yet for some undetermined reason I have been placed here to fight under the authority of brilliant and dedicated men who find themselves set against insurmountable odds. Being charged with a certain amount of authority myself, I am faced with the dilemma of convincing others to press despite only this faintest of hopes. My only charge to them is to lift their eyes to the Almighty for the answer, and perhaps to justify and turn our cause. If it is, however, an unreliable cause may He forgive us all—and if not, then may He execute the destiny which He desires, not ours. _

…_you must forgive me, my love: I find I have indulged in despair while attempting to share with you the lot in which I find myself and which separates us. Yet how could I not be truthful with you? I yearn to be at your side, helping you fight a more hopeful and promising battle for the birth of our son. I would have you know that despite petitioning for leave it is doubtful my request will be granted. If by some miracle I might be granted the respite, I shall come at my first opportunity. Should N be born in the interim, I pray he will find a brighter future— one without the knowledge of war. Until then, know that I love you both. Please give my love to Mother, and until the miraculous is granted I will remain_

_Your friend and husband,_

_A_

Resting her head back against the rocker she wept, releasing all the pain of her loneliness and fear for his safety. Never would she have anticipated such a report, one which shared how deeply he was affected by his work. The hopelessness in his words troubled her, yet just as he had written she also lifted her eyes toward the heavens and whispered the promises she had long ago locked in her memory. They were written by King David himself, another warrior who had placed his trust in God for protection and deliverance, as Aaron was now doing. And as she did she found comfort in those same ancient promises:

_I lift up my eyes unto the hills— from whence cometh my help? My help cometh from the LORD, the maker of heaven and earth…He who watcheth over Israel neither slumbers nor sleeps…The LORD will keep you from all harm, He will watch over your life: the LORD will watch over your coming and going, both now and forevermore._

_Psalm 121_

_**Betsy knocked three times and took a deep breath, **_gasping in surprise when the door opened suddenly to reveal a formidable looking man whose height and shoulders filled the threshold. His eyes locked with hers and she was aware of him being younger than she had expected, though faint lines creased the corners of his eyes and mouth. Yet his eyes lit with reserved interest before it was quickly extinguished. His gaze swept suspiciously down her person, settling upon the plate of cranberry bread she held between her hands. She watched his well sculpted lips part slightly, easing his frown of annoyance.

When he looked up she forced a smile and extended her arms until the plate nearly touched his chest. It was, she could not help but notice, only half covered by a coarse linen shirt left unbuttoned to mid chest. The front of it was damp with perspiration, and she thought of the mound of split wood sprawled across the side lawn.

"Mr. Taylor—I'm Elizabeth Baldwin," she announced, "the one who dropped off the children—"

"I know who you are," he interrupted, his eyes probing hers and holding her strangely captive. They were deeply set and dark brown, framed by graying sandy colored hair which needed a trim. His face was dotted with the same colored stubble, yet she reminded herself that it was only half past nine in the morning.

"I am pleased to meet you—"

"It's early for visitors, Miss Baldwin."

Her smile faded, providing some relief to the tight muscles of her face. Gazing past him into the darkened confines of the log home, she was gripped by concern for the children, for up close she found him unduly threatening in manner.

"If they are still asleep, I can come back anoth—"

"They're in school," he said blandly, lifting an arm to wipe the moisture from his forehead. This he slowly lowered back to his side, his eyes holding hers yet again.

Staring open mouthed at him, she lowered the plate to waist level. "School?"

He shifted to one side, leaning his shoulder against the jamb and folding his arms over his chest. She fought to quell the barrage of questions concerning his prior refusal to school the children, at least by their report. What had it taken to break his stubborn insistence in teaching them himself? As she waited for an explanation she watched the hard line of his mouth curl up very slightly on one side.

"Yes, school," he said softly, gazing off over the meadow, "the place where one sits with book and chalkboard for most of any given day."

She bit back a protest of misunderstanding as he straightened and took the plate from her hands. Stepping aside and obviously waiting for her to enter his home, he studied her expression as she sought for an excuse to run back to her carriage. After all, they were now alone and the nearest neighbor, though within sight, was some distance away, the house sitting atop a ridge across the distant fields.

"You and I have some things to discuss," he prompted, nodding toward the interior of his home. "It won't take long."

She pulled her eyes from the sight of his hands holding the plate, making it look like it belonged with a child's tea set. "Oh no," she smiled nervously up at him, "truly, I couldn't—"

"But that's why you came," he said blandly, "to make sure they are safe with me, now that I'm back."

Unable to deny the truth, she forced herself to step up onto the porch, somewhat reassured that at that level he did not seem to tower so greatly above her. "Mr. Taylor—"

"Jason."

She held his darkening gaze and lifted her chin. "Mr. Taylor, I've grown very fond of Paulie and Faith these last months," she stated, deciding to be as forthright as he. "Quite frankly, I am astonished to hear that they are in school."

He narrowed his gaze upon her face before turning and entering the house, leaving her to decide whether or not to follow him inside.

_What harm could there be,_ she reasoned, _now that he has obviously given in and allowed them to go to school? Surely he cannot be as stubborn as we thought._

That decided, she stepped hesitantly into what looked like a comfortably furnished dining room, noting an order and cleanliness that surprised her. He had set the plate upon the table and stood waiting for her, one hand resting atop the nearest chair as if he waited to seat her. Lifting her eyes to his she noted a subtle change in him, as if he seemed to suddenly become vulnerable, despite the strength of his appearance and stance. After a moment he nodded very slightly.

"I appreciate all that you've done for my children," he said quietly. "I have repented for leaving them and for forcing other good people like yourself to watch over them instead."

In his eyes she saw pain, guilt and a grief. Her own feelings were not that different, now that she had lost Marcus. Taking another step toward him, she closed the door behind her. His breath drew inward as he straightened somewhat, and for the first time she wondered what he must have felt upon losing a wife of nearly 20 years. How on earth would she express her sympathy, or even her newfound understanding to him?

"They have forgiven me," he added as his gaze fell away; "though I do not deserve their forgiveness."

She took another step closer, resting her hands upon the chair opposite the one he still touched. "If they have given it, then you must accept it," she said softly.

He looked up, his expression hardening. "I _deserted _them," he croaked, shaking his head. "I went insane with grief, and deserted my own children!"

His words were softly spoken, further unsettling her. She stared into his eyes, wondering why of all people he would share his feelings with her, a complete stranger. Was it because she had taken care of Faith and Paulie, somehow earning his trust?

"But you have returned," she said gently, slowly easing the chair before her from beneath the table. "You are starting over again, all of you."

She slowly sat down and placed her hands upon the table, watching him carefully. After a moment he seemed to relax.

"Faith has been a wonderful, and has grown up a great deal of late," she said tentatively. "And Paulie is bright and insightful. You must be very proud of them."

He pulled out his chair, hesitating. "I'd like to hear what transpired with them, in my absence."

She smiled and reached out to uncover the bread. "All right, Jason," she answered, glancing up at him, "if you'll serve the coffee, I'll serve the bread."

_**Aaron squinted against the darkness and grit in his eyes, **_choking at the smoke swirling around him as the shelling suddenly ceased. An eerie silence descended over the battlefield, though few perceived it as silence. With ears throbbing from the absence of explosions, he signaled to his men to continue and rose stealthily from his hiding place behind the mound. Peering into the mists he blinked furiously, his vision still hampered by the head wound he'd taken days ago. With pounding heart he sprinted to another mound and settled himself behind it, glancing back and signaling to his scouts. They were making their way to the western side of the fort, hoping to set a trap even he doubted would work. Despite the blackness of night he could make out its silhouette and searched for an opening through which to insert himself. It was a suicide mission, as most of them were, but then this entire arena was just that—suicide. There was no denying it or getting around it, but he was not going to dwell upon it. All that mattered was this piece of the puzzle which they had been given, and despite orders he was going to lead it and make sure none of his men fell in the process. At least that is what he hoped to accomplish.

To their surprise the artillery pulled back and began shelling again, the blasts falling too close to remain in their position. Shifting sideways, he led them from one cover to the next, making their way closer as fire was exchanged in a volley so deafening he thought his head might split. Gritting his teeth, he raised his arm and charged forward, surprised when suddenly the sand around him exploded and flew in every direction. He felt himself stumble, and then he was soaring between heaven and earth, his mind captured by the beautiful white light which was surrounding him. As he felt limply into the trench he lay stunned, somewhat aware of the shelling all around him but completely unafraid and at peace. The brightness increased, sparkling like jewels before his eyes just before they closed. He did not realize that he wore a smile upon his face. With a contented sigh he slipped into the comfort of long denied rest.

_**Jamie lifted his gaze to the horizon and drew a hand across his forehead **_to prevent the perspiration from dripping into his eyes. He shifted the heavy pack higher and trudged alongside the others. Ignoring his growling stomach and various cuts, he gazed toward the horizon to watch how their lines formed a wide river of confluent streams of refugees, all heading north and toward home. His nerves were shot and he was haunted by all the sights, sounds and smells of the past few weeks spent in Hell. That was the only word that described the place, he decided, swinging his gaze once again among his fellow soldiers in an effort to find someone he knew. Jumping at the sound of metal hitting rock, he shifted his attention to the pail bouncing along the road where it had apparently plunged from the back of a buckboard. The cook screamed in protest and ordered his private to retrieve it, which he did somewhat reluctantly.

"Don't have to take no more orders from you!" the boy called to his superior, who was barely a year older but held his arm close to his side. It was swathed in a filthy collection of napkins and rags, a poor excuse for a dressing, Jamie thought.

Shifting his attention out toward the distant beach, he shuddered despite the fact that at this particular length of shoreline no men had fallen and no horses lay writhing in pain, for they'd left Yorktown some days ago, miraculously finding that somehow they had survived. Word had it that the surrender was still being denied, and that King George had declared it "only a setback" for his armies. Ignoring that proclamation, they had started for home, dazed and glad to be alive and owing it to the mercy of God. And he had sensed Ceara's prayers on his behalf; unlike Cecily, his older sister was a warrior in her own right, at least in that service of duty. He hoped she'd received his last letter, hinting at his whereabouts though he doubted she needed the assurance. He thought of her husband Aaron, suspecting him of being one of the spies which General Washington had secretly enlisted. It was the only thing that explained his behavior, and judging from what he had learned since meeting the man, he was almost sure of it. No doubt he was still on alert in the city of New York, right under the nose of General Clinton himself. For some reason he couldn't help smiling as an unexpected a surge of relief and pride for the patriot cause overwhelmed him. Trying to hide the tears flooding his eyes, he gazed heavenward and shot up his own message of thanks to the Almighty for dragging him through his ordeal.

A flock of gulls rose suddenly, crying with outrage as one of the men dove for the garbage they had picked at. Too exhausted to scramble over there for a bit of sustenance, he gathered his wits about him and focused on the hope of returning to the Commonwealth and to a normal life. The fort had been destroyed and he'd been reassigned back home, and since that time all he could think about was the little cabin the quartered soldiers had left standing. It was all that was left of his parents' home, but he was going to rebuild and farm again. He would not allow himself to think of Cecily and her Loyalist husband, who were in danger of retaliation for being Loyalists, now that the war had turned to the patriots' side. He still could hardly believe it, though he forged ahead and planned an entirely different future under an entirely different country.

"Connolly!" a call rang out, jarring him from his reverie. Turning toward the direction from which it had come, he slowed his steps to a halt and stood staring at the last person on earth he expected to see. But there was his old comrade from Schuyler, waving and calling his name despite the filthy and blood stained clothing he wore.

"It's me, Connolly!" Reggie Baker croaked, waving wildly at him. "You made it!" he shouted, whooping for joy. "Well don't just stand there, get over here and help me!"

Jamie felt his face crack with a smile as he started toward the man who had been his best friend during their stay at the fort. Yet upon reaching him he slowed his approach, staring down at Reggie's heavily bandaged foot. "What happened?" he gasped, his voice hoarse from lack of water.

"It nearly broke off in front, but I can still hobble pretty good with the heel," he protested, slapping him on the back when Jamie bent to inspect it. "Who ever thought we'd see each other again in this crowd? Which redoubt were you stationed at?"

Jamie winced at the blood soaked bandage and rose to shove his shoulder beneath Reggie's arm. "It doesn't matter anymore," he answered, gripping Reggie's belt. "Let's get you to a doctor quick."

"Watch out or you'll pull my pants off," Reggie joked, hopping alongside him as Jamie scanned their surroundings for the cook's wagon. It was just up ahead, and he whistled to it. "They're three sizes too big by now."

Jamie glanced at his dirty face and smiled. "We all need fattening up Reg—think you can make it to that wagon?"

Reggie nodded and yelled for the cook, who turned abruptly around in his seat. "Hey! Wait up, cook!"

"Got no food!" the man yelled back, waving in annoyance.

"I want a ride!" Reggie protested, panting and hopping with Jamie's help. To their relief the man pulled the wagon to a halt.

"And I thought you'd enjoy dancing with me all the way home," Reggie joked as they headed toward the wagon.

"You could never dance before, so I'm not dragging you all the way home like this," Jamie grunted, feeling weak himself.

"Then once we're back you can give me lessons," Reggie snorted, steadying himself before he was helped up onto the buckboard.

"When we get back, it's _ladies_ I'll be dancin' with," Jamie winked, plopping himself tiredly at his side as the wagon jerked forward. "Not the likes of you."

The crowd guffawed and commented, having heard their discussion in the silence of late October. As their laughter died away the fell silent, each lost in brooding over either the events of the past or hoping for rest and home.

_**The man turned his head on the pillow and started to open his eyes, **_once again trying to speak despite his wounds. Charlotte Sinclair glanced to the unconscious soldier in the next bed and rose to pay closer attention to this one. Laying a hand upon his good shoulder, she addressed him by rank despite sensing that he could hear her. Despite being heavily sedated he had remained restless since his arrival and she was compelled to find the reason why.

Lifting a spoon to his cracked lips, she poked it gently at them until they finally parted and he sipped some water. Unfortunately he had great difficulty trying to swallow it.

"Easy, son," she soothed, touching his cheek gently before giving him a bit more. "Don't try to swallow it, just let it slide down."

As if hearing her, he obeyed, giving her the small victory of getting him to accept fluids. Once finished she dropped the spoon back into his cup and checked his bandages for any signs of breakthrough bleeding.

"More," he breathed, finally opening his eyes to gaze groggily toward her. Dr. Damour came toward the bed on rounds and nodded to her, picking up the chart and frowning down at the injured officer.

"Has he said anything coherent yet?" he asked tiredly, scanning the reports.

"He's trying," she informed him, "but the fever's back."

He looked up. "I thought the infection was under control," he complained, making a note.

"It is, thank the Lord," she sighed, placing another cool compress on the patient's neck. "I think it's the fever instead."

Dr. Damour came closer to examine the man, checking his eyes and ears, then taking his pulse. Straightening abruptly, he shoved his hands in his pockets. "We haven't seen any of that this year," he finally replied. "There must be another source."

"He's older…perhaps he caught it before," she surmised, gasping in surprise when a hand shot out and gripped her arm.

"Please," the patient croaked, obvious having gained his senses. "I…report—"

"Easy, Lieutenant," the doctor shouted to him as he leaned closer. Unclenching his hand from her arm, he placed it at his side and held it to the mattress. "Can you hear me? What is your name?"

Attempting to lift his head, the patient groaned and let it fall back against his pillow. "Gree…" he gasped in obvious discomfort.

"What was that?" Dr. Damour shouted impatiently, gesturing to the nurse for more laudanum. "Your name, Lieutenant—your uniform was too tattered to discern your name and regiment. It is imperative that we report your status to someone."

"Aaron Green," the man groaned, causing nurse and doctor to scramble for the chart to record it. "Greenburg," he added, causing them to glance back at his face, then at each other.

"Poor thing," Charlotte sighed, reaching out to pat his arm. "He isn't even sure of his own name."

"Aaron what?" the doctor demanded, hovering over him and ignoring another nurse who had come to his side.

"Please sir," she requested, "another officer needs your help."

The patient opened his eyes and looked up, watching her glance apologetically in his direction before she pinned the doctor with her gaze. "We haven't long, I'm afraid sir," she added meaningfully.

"Aaron Greenburg," the patient repeated, gasping with the effort. "…General Washington's command."

"General Washington?" the doctor frowned, straightening in resignation. "Everyone says they are under General Wa—"

"Captain Burke's unit, Northern Army," the patient added in a croak, watching the doctor perk up. "Josiah Burke?" he said excitedly. "I know him personally—you say you're under his direct command?"

"Yesss…" he answered, closing his eyes as his hand fell limp onto his chest.

Dr. Damour nodded to Charlotte, who got up and took his chart in hand. "I'll report him immediately," she assured both colleagues. Gazing back at the patient, she judged him finally under the influence of his medication and left to relay the information.

_**Noah cooed softly, opening his eyes sleepily to gaze up at her. **_Ceara rocked gently, smiling down at him as she stroked his dark hair, so like his father's. Having finished nursing he was typically fighting sleep, though she kept up the gentle rhythm and judged it only a matter of time before he gave up his struggle.

"You won't miss anything," she assured him gently, cuddling him closer as she fastened her gown with one hand. "So get some rest for both our sakes?"

His eyes drifted lower, and he turned his head with a sigh. After some time she slowly got up and carried him to his bassinette. Settling him carefully to sleep, she stretched lazily and glanced toward the window.

It was nearly December, the leaves having already fallen from the trees in anticipation of winter. She had yet to hear anything from her husband, or any official report of his whereabouts. In an effort to remedy this she was determined to confront Captain Burke's aide, though doing so entailed traveling with Noah by coach to Burke's newly relocated offices in New Jersey. Perhaps Aaron would be there, either continuing or resuming his secret work in that arena. This hope kept her spirits up despite her tiredness from waking to feed Noah through the night. It would be a grueling journey made alone with the baby, but she was determined to find out what had happened since Aaron's last letter. And it was better than just sitting and waiting.

A soft knock on the door brought her attention back to the present, and when she opened it Florence peered inside, hoping to get yet another glimpse of her first grandchild. She looked into Ceara's eyes as she stepped out into the hall and closed the door behind her.

"He sleeping," she whispered, smiling at Florence's nod. Aaron's mother seemed troubled, setting Ceara's heart to pound in apprehension. "What's wrong?"

Florence extended a letter toward her. "This just arrived for you, from Captain Burke's office," she whispered, twisting her hands together after Ceara took it.

"About time!" Ceara breathed, tearing it open and reading the few lines enclosed. She looked up and gripped Florence's arm. "They've located him!" she screeched hoarsely, turning to glance back at the door before rushing down the hall toward the library. Florence kept pace with her as she choked back a sob. "Aaron's alive!"

"I knew it!" she gulped, wiping her moist eyes. "This is wonderful news!"

"I cannot wait to see him, and introduce Noah!" Ceara proclaimed happily, turning at the entrance to the library to hug her. "And Noah can meet his papa, at last!"

"Master Aaron?" Bennett gasped from across the foyer, his voice echoing toward them. He had paused mid stride, his aged face wrinkling toward a smile. "Is he returning, Miss Ceara?"

"Not as of yet—he's in New York!" she gushed. "It's a miracle, Bennett!"

"That it is, Miss, after so long a wait," he smiled, coming toward them and switching his attention to Florence. "You must be greatly relieved, Madame."

"Oh Bennett, this is truly wonderful news," she answered, laying a hand upon his arm. "He must have been delayed with all the arrangements that are necessary, now that the City is being evacuated!"

"I'm so happy I made the arrangements!" Ceara gasped, nearly dancing with her delight. "And if he's in New York we don't have to travel so far! I can hardly wait for the morning, to start out!"

"Everything has been readied, Miss," Bennett assured her. "But perhaps Madame should accompany you?"

Both women gazed at each other in shock. Ceara gripped her arm. "Of course you should! We just assumed you would wait here for any news—"

"And now that we have it…" Florence mused, her face brightening. "We must pack your best gowns, Ceara!" she fussed, tucking a strand of her hair back behind her ear. "There will be celebrating all round, and you must look your best for him! And I can watch Noah whenever you need to be alone!"

They hugged each other and chatted happily, causing Bennett to merely shake his head as he wandered off to his previous chore. His spirits lifted after the long period of semi mourning from Master Aaron's absence, and he sensed a brighter day coming. With this in mind, his step was lighter as he turned back to announce the news to the rest of the staff.

_c. 2008 by Christine Levitt_


	28. Chapter 28 The Farewell

_**Chapter 28 The Farewell**_

_**Captain Burke stared in shock at his new aide, attempting to control his rising anger. **_The Brundage boy was no doubt only in this position because of his connection with a higher ranking officer, or he had somehow slipped into headquarters by accident. Clearly the young man was either unaware of military policy concerning contact with civilians, or he just refused to follow it. That more than anything else was, in his mind, a sign of incompetence.

"You did what?" he nearly yelled.

"I'm sorry sir," Brundage wined, standing taller at attention, "but she was most insistent—"

"I don't care how she acted," he growled, slapping down his portfolio, "she cannot be given privileged information of any sort!"

"My mistake, sir, was to assume that the rules concerning wounded officers were less strict," Brundage tried to explain as he rushed to pour him a pacifying drink.

"Not this officer," Burke complained, trying to ignore the painful reminder of Aaron's condition. Glancing at the pile of paperwork cluttering his desk, he drank half the proffered whisky wondering where the day went. Although he remembered how stubborn Ceara could be, he could not afford to bend the rules just for her sake, even though he had already decided it would be in the couple's best interests to be reunited.

"Dr. Goetz informed me that in such cases it is often helpful for patients to see family," Brundage continued, apparently noting his soft spot for Aaron.

Burke sat heavily in his chair and looked up at the boy. "Did you perhaps consider the reaction of the _family_ when they discover that their loved one fails to recognize them?"

With a confused expression spreading over his face, Brundage shook his head. "No, sir," he admitted, "I'm sorry, sir."

Burke downed the remainder of his drink and braced his elbows upon the desk. "You do well to have compassion for the families, but we must hold the health of our officers as our highest priority. When Lieutenant Greenburg is cleared for visitors he may have them, no sooner—now go on before you miss dinner."

Brundage snapped to attention and saluted, looking immensely relieved at the order. "Aye sir—and thank you, sir!"

Burke nodded. "If Mrs. Greenburg appears contact me immediately—do not, I repeat tell her anything, that's an order!"

"Yes sir," he gulped before rushing gratefully from the office.

Burke sat staring at the door, seriously considering retiring. He was long past due for it, and when he sorted through the top few items waiting for his review he decided that maybe it was time. Third in order of priority was a letter from the very subject of their discussion. Pulling out Ceara's letter he read it, shaking his head as he looked up to note the time on the mantle clock. It was too late to deny her visitation rights, for all the physicians treating Aaron had already left for the day. She would be arriving soon, judging by the date she supplied him. Until Aaron's memory returned he must stall her, but that would not work for long.

Sighing mightily, he leaned back and thought of all the days it had taken to report Aaron missing in action. Then, once they'd received word of his location and his condition, the news had been delayed in being delivered to her. The victory at Yorktown was a difficult and costly one, and the chaos prevented adequate means of keeping track of all their men. Now, reading her letter once again he was given another portrait of daily life over the past few months, for it seemed that Ceara had given birth to a son not even knowing that Aaron had been transferred from New York to the southern arena. It was ironic that now that Aaron was no longer working in intelligence and could inform her of his whereabouts, his injuries had robbed him of the thought and ability to do so. Setting aside her letter, Burke gazed out at the setting sun, its colors too beautiful and brilliant to describe. For the first time in a very long while he felt empty and lonely. Aaron was one of his best officers, and for him to lose his faculties was tragic indeed. Maybe Brundage was right, he wondered tiredly, rubbing a hand over his face before picking up his pen.

Scratching down his orders, he rose and crossed the room, on his way to deliver them himself. "Congratulations, Aaron—you have a son," he mused, locking his office behind him. "Now let's just hope you recognize his mother."

_**Staring at the small stack of letters which had been delivered to him a fortnight ago,**_ Aaron shifted uncomfortably in his chair. Over that time period he had read them several times, partly because it was supposedly good therapy and partly because he truly had nothing more interesting to do. Oh there were the exercises and reading assignments meant to heal and condition his body and mind, but nothing seemed to touch the empty space he felt within him. Though his emotions had stabilized for the most part he nevertheless felt detached, as if nothing mattered any longer. His shoulder and neck were healing as well as could be expected and his pain was finally under control, but something was missing. He felt restless yet anxious about leaving this place, and no longer anticipated what new assignment might be offered him in the future. In the past his work in intelligence had always been fulfilling, though dangerous, but now he cared little about what tasks might eventually be assigned him. Truly the victory at Yorktown had paved the way for a new government and order to be established, but he found himself distracted from all the excitement and strangely aloof.

Glancing around his room his attention was again drawn to the letters, or more accurately to their author. He stared at the dozen or so letters bound by the ribbon she had included in her last correspondence, a satiny blue one which embarrassed him enough to hide the bundle in the drawer of his table when he was not reading them. Admittedly, she was an excellent writer, highly descriptive but not overwhelming with detail. Her sketches of her life in the north evoked happier times he knew had existed before the spread of war, though he had not experienced them personally. She was without a doubt a devoted wife and new mother, judging from the tone of her letters. Her penmanship was feminine and artistic, an expression of what he guessed was an intelligent and free spirited woman with qualities he might have considered desirable in a wife, had he ever enjoyed the liberty of choosing one.

Catching himself, he remembered Captain Burke's scowl when he learned that he could not recall choosing this woman to be his wife. Burke had spent a great deal of time here on the ward detailing how he had married this Ceara Connolly, having witnessed it himself. Her letters confirmed Burke's account to some degree, though he could not imagine himself married or even moving through such a process. He'd been alone for years and grown accustomed to it. A life of military service was all he knew, regardless of Burke's or his doctors' insistence that he had amnesia. Sensing no reason why they should all lie to him, he entertained the thought that perhaps Providence had played some cosmic trick on him and shifted his perception. Despite his protestations to the contrary, they all advised him to accept the truth and prepare himself to act upon it before his discharge. And they all considered him legendary for his acting ability.

With a sigh he tugged the top letter from the stack, pursing his lips in frustration as he read through it once again. Despite being ordered to accept the truth he found within himself no alternative response: it was a stranger's letter, addressed to him, filled with news of his home and rejoicing about baby Noah's birth and early development. The overall tone of the letter was sincere, hinting at her longing to see him despite the veiled barb of accusation concerning his not being at her side to see his son's entrance into the world. Though he sensed it was neither meant as an actual rebuke or an effort to produce in him a guilty conscience, he had to admit there was a bit of a pout to its tone. He re-read the paragraph detailing her giving birth with the aid of her sister Cecily, as well as his own mother Florence's coaching, shuddering at the visualization it prompted in his mind. It was a wonder how women did it, he decided in conclusion, laboring and sweating for more than a day to expel a miniature human being from one's own body. So detailed was her account that it pricked his conscience not to have somehow offered his help, and when he looked up from it he felt an unexpected twinge of loneliness.

_Ridiculous, _he thought, casting off the feeling. _I haven't been lonely in years._

Tucking the letter back into its beribboned stack, he slipped it into the open drawer, gazing about the empty ward which he could see from his private room. The silence of the late day only intensified the feeling, which he reasoned was due to having little activity with which to occupy himself. Shifting forward in his chair, he then proceeded to execute his shoulder and neck exercise regimen, which would conclude with his twice daily shuffle up and down the corridor. In an effort to cheer himself up, he counted the days until his discharge before he was reminded that he would then be forced to meet her and pretend to recognize her. Though eager to escape his drab surroundings, such a distasteful and dishonest deed almost made him want to stay. Her letter informed him of the date of her arrival, and he only had a few days left in which to either recover that part of his mind which the explosions had cast into oblivion or to face this intelligent and caring woman as a stranger. His only consolation was the hope that she might be patient with him and not demand too much of him. Surely she would give him time to become accustomed in his new role, wouldn't she? Or perhaps he presumed too much to hope. As he considered these things he wondered, not for the first time, what kind of woman she would prove to be.

_A likeness of her might help,_ he thought as he shifted positions once again, favoring his left shoulder and back. It would no doubt help to jar his supposedly slumbering memory, would it not? _What would a woman who writes like that look like? _he wondered.His imagination began to sketch in the details, only to erase them and supply new ones. He had to admit he was curious. He was eager to ask Burke, but the prospect of extracting information concerning his wife's appearance from him was even harder to imagine. With a tired sigh he leaned his head back against the chair and grimaced in pain, wondering why he hadn't taken the last offered dose of medication from his day nurse.

_Always trying to be tough, _a voice within him mocked, gratefully changing the subject. _Now look at you…a real hero…_

He glanced toward the medal lying inside the half opened drawer and scowled. He resented its presence, for all he had done was perform his duties to the best of his abilities, nothing more. The fact that he had survived when so many had not was unsettling, and guilt gnawed at him for it. Worse, he was gripped with waves of emotion at the oddest times and when he least expected them, though they had dwindled considerably. Yet in his sleep he was haunted by the horrible details recently imprinted upon his mind, as if his mind had chosen to forget all the good of his past life and only record the evil. It was then that he revisited the fields of body parts and wounded men lying in blood and filth, the craters and debris scattered everywhere, the sounds and odors sickening him and holding him captive.

Even now in recalling them he felt shaken and ill, but instead forced himself to get up and go to the window. Beyond it a beautiful sunset painted the heavens, yet grief filled him with sudden intensity. In that moment he admitted that he was scarred inwardly as well as outwardly. Cold dread shook him unexpectedly, and he doubted for the first time since awakening in the field hospital what kind of man he really was. Allowing himself to wonder where he did indeed come from, he was forced to consider where he was going. All he knew with any surety was the fact that a wife was coming to claim him like a piece of lost luggage. Her plan was to bring him home to what sounded like a well furnished estate in the New Hampshire Grants, yet all he understood was service and fighting.

A knock upon the door jolted him into the present, and turning his head he saw the night nurse poke her head into his room. She was older than the day nurse but far more pleasant. Recalling her first name, he nodded for her to enter.

"Grace," he stated simply, turning his back to her in order to sit upon the edge of his bed.

"Let me help you," she offered, entering and setting a tray down before she took his arm as he finished lowering himself. "And whether you like it or not you will take your medication tonight, judging by the look of you."

He sat heavily, fighting the persistent lightheadedness that plagued him whenever rising too quickly. "Thanks for the compliment," he croaked, hating the rasp of his own voice, a remnant of the shrapnel wounds to his neck.

"A furrowed brow of pain hardly spoils _that_ handsome face," she teased, lifting the cover from his food with a flourish. "Announcing something new and exciting for dinner, Lieutenant—pea soup!"

He glanced suspiciously at the bowl she held toward him, its tangy steam wafting up into his nostrils. Suddenly his mind was flooded with images and he saw himself in another time and place. Staring into the green concoction, he felt the pain of a bayonet wound in his side and saw a flash of a much younger nurse with black hair and incredibly blue eyes. Gazing up at Grace, he also saw a curving smile of rosy pink lips and heard a voice that was soft and husky. Then he remembered something else...

_Just have a little…it has bacon in it, and will give you strength, _she was saying.

_Perhaps a trade is in order, _he replied; _the cheese will be just fine._

_It is hardly an adequate substitute, Lieutenant; you need to regain your strength.._.

_Whatever for—lying abed all day and night? _he teased.

_No, of course not…for your escape…_

"Lieutenant," Grace repeated, the worried tone of her voice causing it to vanish. "Are you all right?"

He narrowed his gaze upon her lined face and cleared his throat. "Fine," he breathed, looking away from the soup while at the same time trying to grasp the fact that he had just recalled something from his past. And it had been as clear as his physician had predicted it would be.

"You don't look fine at all," she complained, setting aside the bowl. "I'm sorry—I didn't mean to force it on you."

"You didn't," he assured her, slowly leaning back against the pillows. Ever vigilant, she raised one higher to cushion his back, frowning at the way he hugged his arm close to his side.

"You will definitely take your pain medication with this meal," she insisted, stepping back to plant her hands upon her hips. "And if I am the keen observer my Harold says I am, you remembered something, didn't you?"

He studied the firm set of her mouth and released his held breath. "I believe I did," he admitted, glancing toward the soup with distaste. "I remembered that I don't like pea soup."

"You can't fool me," she laughed, "I think it was more than that, and I intend to write a note stating that on your chart."

"It was more of a conversation than a memory," he stated, watching her wave a hand of dismissal.

"I saw the way you looked at me but past me," she said, wagging a finger at him. "You saw something as well."

"It wasn't that clear."

"Not as clear as the conversation?"

"No, but I wouldn't overestimate it."

"Why not?" she frowned. "Or do you really want to stay here and have me wait on you for the rest of your life?"

He swallowed a laugh and raised a restraining hand. "All right, make your report just as we've discussed."

"I will—now start on that potato while I fetch something else," she ordered. "A bit of meat is in order, but no pork or mutton, if I remember correctly."

"You do, and thank you," he sighed, watching her leave with the soup and his chart.

There was no use arguing with her, he'd learned from the beginning of his stay. Feeling hungry now that the soup had been carried away, he stabbed the fork into the boiled potato and carrot mixture. It took some doing, eating with his right hand, but he'd become better at it just to avoid feeling so helpless. The explosion had injured his left arm, with which he wrote, and he faced a few more months until it was healed enough to unsplint. He was however expected to make a full recovery save for the scarring from burns and surgery and the slight limitation in his shoulder. All in all he had been declared very lucky to have survived, though he knew it was more than that. For he believed that Providence, whether playing a trick on him or not, had somehow preserved his life.

_**Ceara leaned both hands upon the desk and looked Burke's aide in the eye. **_"Why do I have the impression your Captain is avoiding us?" she demanded in frustration. They had been told to wait nearly three hours ago, yet still he was strangely absent.

"I'm sorry Madam, but he is a very busy man," the young man stated, eyeing Noah with extreme reservation.

"We understand," Florence said sympathetically, shrugging her shoulders at Ceara with one hand gently rocking the carriage.

They knew he'd been embarrassed by her request for a room in which to nurse the baby, but if she hadn't Noah would be screaming at the top of his lungs instead of sleeping soundly under his grandmother's watchful eyes.

"I happen to be a very busy woman," she stated as she turned away, bending over Noah's sleeping form. Thankfully even the loudest noises never seemed to disturb him, once he found his rest. For that she was grateful, particularly after their long journey here to collect Aaron.

"Excuse me, Ma'am?" a voice interrupted, and she looked up to see a dark skinned man at the door. He was dressed in white hospital attire, complete with butcher's apron covering his torso. "Are you here to see Lieutenant Greenburg?"

She eyed Florence, whose face lit up in relief. Straightening and gripping the handle of the carriage, she lifted her chin. "We are."

"He's waiting for you in the sunroom—please follow me."

She did, with Florence right behind her. "Is he well?" she asked him once they were out in the corridor.

The man looked embarrassed as he shrugged. "I merely escort patients and visitors, ma'am," he answered sheepishly. "I usually work with the enlisted men, not on this ward."

"I understand," she nodded, smiling to reassure him. "It's just that we have been waiting a long time for this day, sir."

"George," he corrected, nodding to Florence. "It was Captain Burke himself who asked me to come escort you."

"Captain Burke?" she repeated, glancing at Florence. "He's truly here somewhere?"

"Yes ma'am," George answered. "Pulled me off duty and sent me directly over here."

"Well we are grateful you've come," Florence said happily, despite his reserved glance.

"I must warn you," he said quietly, "the Lieutenant's injuries are not light."

Florence paled considerably, her smile fading. "No one informed us about their extent," she answered.

Ceara put a hand on her arm. "I am a nurse," she told George. "And Ilove my husband a great deal."

"We both do," Florence stated. "But thank you for warning us."

He nodded, glancing toward the sleeping Noah with some concern. "How old is the baby?"

"Oh, he's nearly a month old," Ceara reassured him. "I'm not concerned about his health at this point."

"Good—ah, here we are," he said stopping just before an entrance from which pink light beamed onto the floor. "He asked that you visit in here; the night nurse will see you back to the office area. I must get back to the ward now."

"Thank you, George," Florence said, but Ceara moved closer and gazed inside the room. It was lit with a golden and pink glow from the sunset, but her eyes went immediately to the man standing looking out the window, his back to her. Her heart leapt at the sight of him, for she would have known him anywhere, even from behind.

"Thank you," she added softly, noting how he seemed to stiffen at the sound of their voices. She felt a hand upon her back.

"You go in first," Florence whispered, meeting her gaze. "I'll watch the baby."

Ceara shook her head, gripping her hand. "No, please Florence, come with me…all of us."

"But he needs _you_, dear, and he hasn't met Noah yet."

"If you don't come he'll think you will be repelled by his injuries."

Florence bit her lip, nodding after a moment. "All right, but not too long."

Unable to wait any longer, Ceara turned and slowly entered the room first, approached the place where he stood looking out, as if he was afraid to turn and face them. Florence wheeled the carriage closer as Ceara took note of the bulk of padding beneath his loosened jacket, then the sling and thick bindings over his upper arm and shoulder. Lifting her gaze upward, she winced inwardly at the burn scars along his neck, nearly touching his jaw. He was turning his head as she stepped halfway between him and the window to stand facing him. When their eyes met he stiffened at her forced smile, his eyes probing hers until she knew he could see into her very soul. Fighting grief for all that he had suffered, she was quickly distracted by the uncertainty in his expression. It took all her strength to resist embracing him, but she reached out to touch the hand that hung from the edge of his sling. Sliding her fingers over his knuckles, she felt him steel himself against her touch. He looked thin and drawn, as if he hadn't slept or had a moment's peace in months. Despite this her breath caught at the silver light in his eyes, though his expression remained guarded. Braving an examination of the masculine beauty of his face, she studied the scars healing at his temple and along his jaw line, curling her hand over his.

"Aaron," she choked, trying to find her voice, "it's so good to see you."

His hand gripped hers, squeezing it with surprising strength. She watched his lips part as he said her name softly. "Ceara…"

"Aaron?" Florence's breathed, capturing his attention. He slowly turned his upper body toward her, his brows lifting in expectation. The moment hung in silence as both women stared in confusion, waiting for what he would do next. But he said nothing as he glanced toward the carriage and looked to Ceara, a pleading expression in his eyes.

"I'm afraid I…" he began, his voice trailing off as his gaze returned to the window.

_He doesn't know his own mother,_ she realized with horror, the pleading expression in his eyes suddenly beginning to make sense, as did his somewhat reserved manner with her. Fighting panic, she recognized the head wounds as reminiscent of other cases encountered in her nursing. Suddenly she wondered if he had been told her name, rather than remembering it himself. Watching the tension in him increase, she saw a pulse in his cheek and heard his breath quicken, almost confirming her suspicions. Yet he seemed to be begging her to act as if she had none. _Oh Aaron…why didn't they tell us the truth?_

Reaching out her hand, she gently touched his good arm and glanced toward Florence's stricken expression. "Your mother and I have been waiting for hours to see you," she said as casually as she could manage with the lump in her throat. Florence remained speechless, her hand at her throat.

Ceara glanced up at his stern expression, noting the telltale matting of hair at the side of his head and the uneven look of its length as she imagined the head wound he must have suffered. Still he avoided looking at her, whether out of disinterest or anxiety she could not determine.

"Apparently Captain Burke is taking a very long lunch today," she mused, "or he has forgotten our appointment altogether."

"My darling," Florence gasped, causing him to turn his attention to her once again, his expression growing more pained as he noted the tears in her eyes. It surprised neither of them when his mother excused herself and quickly exited the room.

He shifted his attention back to Ceara. "I'm sorry," he said softly, pursing his lips, his eyes saying so much more.

Ceara bit her lower lip, her eyes flooding with tears even as she braved a smile. "We were not informed of the extent of your injuries," she said softly, looking into his pained expression. "Especially not concerning your loss of memory."

His eyes moistened and he looked away. "I regret that more than anything," he stated gently.

"It cannot be helped, Aaron," she said, sitting down. As he moved to sit opposite her she noted how carefully he moved. He was obviously in pain, but surely that would resolve given time; she only hoped the amnesia would as well.

"I've read your letters," he offered, frowning as he gripped the arm of the chair with his good hand. "They were a pleasant distraction from the pain and boredom of recovery."

She stared at him a moment, trying not to blush. "Then you must not have read the last one."

He studied her expression, his gaze unreadable. Clearing his throat, he nodded. "I did…though I believe I prefer my former ignorance concerning the birthing process."

She stared at him in amazement, wondering why on earth he would admit that to her, thinking they were total strangers. Quickly recovering from her shock, she tilted her head to study him back. "Is that so?" she mused. "Then I confess that sometimes the nurse in me forgets that not everyone welcomes such details."

He held her gaze, pursing his lips. "Do you—" he began, obviously frustrated "still hold it against me…for not being there?"

She shrugged with feigned nonchalance. "I suppose you might be excused," she huffed.

His expression twisted with confusion, so she leaned forward to touch the arm of his chair, no far from where his hand rested. "I never suspected that you were wounded, Aaron," she said soberly. "Though I feared your being transferred, I had to assume you were still in New York, pretending to be a silversmith."

His brows lifted. "Pretending?"

"Oh I realize it is a hobby of yours, and you are very talented," she clarified, "but we both know the true nature of your business there."

The puzzled look in his eyes only intensified, and when he shifted he winced from the movement. "I fear my loss of memory is far more encompassing than you realize."

She stared back at him. "How much more?" she whispered, gripping the arm of the chair.

He sighed and lifted his hand to his head, avoiding her gaze. "I regret to inform you that all I remember of my past is that which concerns my military service."

Feeling as if he had dealt her a physical blow, she fought to accept what he was trying to tell her, however gently. "But—what about New York?" she breathed.

He shook his head, holding her gaze. "I do not remember being a silversmith," he admitted, "though I was stationed there many years ago."

She leaned closer, glancing toward the door. "But what about the silver you hid?" she whispered, "the one which contained the secret information? I went with you, after you took me to your service. Surely you remember that?"

The vacant look he wore confirmed that he did not. "I'm sorry, Ceara."

She stared at him, feeling as if her breath was caught in her chest. "Is it because I was with you?" she choked.

He nodded very slightly. "It appears so…God only knows why."

She slumped back in her chair, too grief-stricken to look up. _He must have wanted to forget._

"You have no idea how difficult this all is," she heard him say. When she found she could not reply, he cleared his throat. "Perhaps it might be better if we continue this another time."

She looked up, her gaze apologetic. "No, please Aaron—I didn't mean to press you. It's just that—" _I miss you…_

His eyes glowed with emotion, then something else. There was a spark of interest in their depths, much to her surprise. As soon as she noted it he glanced away, as if ashamed of it. Suddenly she felt hopeful.

_All is not lost,_ she realized,_ not if he looks at me in that manner. _Perhaps they could build something new, at least until he remembered how their life used to be. The prospect seemed daunting, for this Aaron was very different from the one she once knew. How would they manage, if his memory never returned? And what was she to do about Florence, or Noah?

"Is that…my son?"

He'd spoken very softly, yet her heart leapt. She looked at him, but his gaze was averted, fixed upon the carriage. Reaching out her hand, she slowly wheeled it closer and leaned over to fold back the coverlet. He stared at Noah's sleeping profile, so reminiscent of his own. Her throat caught and her eyes filled with tears as he studied the child he'd fathered but never met. The light in the room was fading and they could hear the bugler playing a mournful song.

"He is so small," he finally said, not daring to look away. "When was he born?"

She studied his profile, noting the emotion in his expression. "The 29th of September."

Leaning slowly back, he settled in his chair once again, his eyes studying her at length. "He has your hair," he said absently, his gaze lifting to her upswept hair.

"And your eyes," she answered without thinking. He looked down at his heavily bandaged arm and pursed his lips again. "You'll see, when he wakes up," she added to smooth over her blunder.

He nodded and considered something, finally meeting her waiting gaze. "I remembered something—" he began at the same time she spoke.

"I'm sorry," she said, feeling more nervous as his gaze narrowed upon her face.

"It was only a flash," he continued, "or rather a vision which I cannot explain…perhaps you might be able to."

"Of course," she offered, eager to help him to remember, no matter how small the detail.

He hesitated a moment. "Strangely enough, it concerns pea soup."

She stared at him a moment, then lifted a hand to squelch the laugh bursting from her throat. "Pea soup?!"

He looked slightly affronted. "The nurse brought me a bowl of it, which seemed to prompt the vision."

"That's wonderful!" she gasped, clasping her hands together in joy. _Of all things to remember!_

One brow shot up. "I'm sure it is highly significant," he said cynically, looking frustrated with himself.

"Oh but it is," she argued, leaning toward him and lowering her voice. "We once had a bit of an argument over pea soup," she confessed.

He stared at her with a mixture of surprise, humour and daring. "Apparently scents have the ability to trigger memory," he stated, his gaze lifting again to her hair. "At least that is what the physicians believe."

Remembering how he used to comment on the fragrance of her hair, she decided that an experiment was in order. Reaching up, she slowly began to take her hair down, watching him stiffen and part his lips in protest. Yet for some reason he decided against it, settling to watch her in mute fascination.

"This is just a test," she explained as she got up and moved behind him.

"What kind of a test?" he objected as she placed her hand upon his good shoulder and leaned over him. He looked up at her and she knew that he thought she had gone too far. "Ceara—"

"Breathe," she ordered softly, feeling his hand touch hers as she lifted a handful of hair and held it up. Watching his eyes focus upon the long tail of hair, she heard his indrawn breath and held her own. Seconds lengthened into minutes, and though she sensed its effect he said nothing. She leaned very close to whisper near his ear.

"Do I smell like pea soup?" she breathed, nearly crying for joy as his fingers laced through hers.

He swallowed painfully. "You smell wonderful," he admitted in a whisper.

Gently pulling her hand from his she moved back to her chair, this time pulling it to his side. She sat down and laid her hand upon his good shoulder, her eyes holding his.

"We will be fine, Aaron," she said softly, glancing down at his lips before returning her gaze to his. "And together we will help you find your way back."

"How can you say that?" he said hoarsely. "I've only seen a hint of what we must have shared yet—"

"You just remembered something else," she said knowingly, "though you need not say what." _Judging by the look in your eyes, it was something intimate_.

He held her gaze but did not deny it. "There is no guarantee," he insisted, more annoyed with himself than her. "Your letters speak of a love I cannot even imagine—"

"My love for you hasn't changed," she argued, gently fingering the strap of his sling. "But we were friends first—we can start there, if you'd like."

His expression told her that he was deeply moved. "You would risk that, with _me_?"

She smiled hesitantly, aware of the baby stirring, no doubt for his feeing. "Of course I would."

He exhaled a shuddering breath, shaking his head. "What if I never remember? Surely you would regret that—"

They were interrupted by Noah's piercing cry, which drew Aaron's horrified gaze to the carriage.

"Don't worry," she waved toward him, rising to pick him up, "he's just hungry."

Aaron's lips parted as he stared at the red faced, stiff form of the infant, wincing at each renewed cry for food. Ceara blushed hotly and excused herself.

"Don't leave," Aaron urged her.

"I must nurse him," she apologized, looking toward the hall. "Is there somewhere I can take him?"

"Of course, but must you leave?"

She bounded the baby in her arms, kissing his scrunched up cheek as he wailed louder. "I could stay, but I don't want to embarrass you—"

"Or yourself," he said knowingly, rising to hand her the blanket from the carriage. "Please, stay."

She held his gaze, then reached out for the blanket as she returned to her chair. "All right, but turn your back."

He stared at Noah in fascination, snapping his gaze up to hers. "Oh, I'm sorry—"

"Aaron," she laughed softly, draping the blanket over her shoulder as she tried to unfasten her dress for Noah, "you can watch another time…when you remember more."

He nodded absently, his gaze fixed on Noah's flailing feet which soon stopped as he began to breastfeed. She began to hum softly, strolling slowly toward the window. "Quiet, dearie," she soothed, glancing at Aaron, "your papa isn't used to your antics yet."

Aaron met her gaze and she saw the longing in his expression. She smiled at him, hinting at the promise of a future which included them all. "At least not yet..." she said softly.

_**One month later Aaron found himself brooding over the delayed departure of their uninvited guests, **_not completely understanding his intense aversion to them, although they seemed a strange pair indeed. His mother had on one previous occasion explained quite calmly to him that she had quietly divorced William Crote for his infidelity with a younger woman, reassuring him that his father had been her only true love. Widowed when he was only a youngster, she had married Crote hastily and out of desperation more than anything else. Crote had not proved much of a father figure to him, she had explained just as vaguely, causing Aaron to suspect a much darker picture than the one his mother painted. Added to that was the grim line of his wife's lips to confirm the suspicion. Though he had pressed Ceara for more details, she'd insisted that it was his mother's place to tell him. So he was left with the impression that both women in his life preferred his memory to remain blissfully sealed.

Crote and his much younger wife Alberta were Loyalists, Florence did explain. Because of that they now found themselves refugees from the new government which was rapidly establishing itself. Emboldened by the British surrender at Yorktown, the patriots of New Hampshire decided that the continued presence of the likes of Mr. and Mrs. Crote was not only intolerable but dangerous to the new order. Being the shrewd businessman and hard hearted neighbor his mother insisted he was, Crote quickly seized the opportunity to dissolve his partnerships and liquidate his possessions to flee North, making one final stop at his former stepson's estate to gain whatever provisions Aaron saw fit to give them.

Pacing the width of the library, he ran a hand through his hair and glanced back toward the foyer, where they were waiting for Bennett to pack one small trunk for their journey as directed. Unfortunately at he did so Alberta caught his eye and smiled haughtily, leaning suggestively against her husband's arm as she whispered into his ear. All the while her eyes were locked with his, causing his stomach to churn. Shuddering with disgust, he turned away, reaching out to run his fingers over the top of the piano his mother had played earlier, before their quiet afternoon had been so rudely interrupted. Distracted by the rich tones it produced, he concentrated upon the tones and slid onto the bench. Slowly moving his fingers over the keys, he attempted to calm his jagged nerves, while at the same time display to the Crotes how much of an inconvenience they were causing by their presence.

Save for occasional flashes of bits of his life in the King's service, most of his memories were just as intrusive, often leaving him panting for breath and filled with grief. They were mostly images of war, dismembered and burned bodies, cries of suffering and explosions that still echoed in his skull and have him headaches. When they took the form of dreams he would awake in the throes of battle as vivid as if he were still trapped there, often summoning the worried presence of Ceara or even worse, waking the baby. When they recurred with any frequency he would remove himself to sleep in different quarters, yet always made sure to reinstate himself back in his own bed, at his wife's side whenever he was confident they had subsided.

Comparing Crote's wife with his own as he experimented with the keys, Aaron considered himself truly blessed to have Ceara at his side. She was the opposite of Alberta, his supposed stepmother, for Ceara's attire and behavior were much more ladylike. Yet beneath her demure surface was a passionate woman he found intriguing and much more alluring than the flamboyant, heavily made up Alberta. Ceara's eyes were, he had recently discovered, able to ignite his interest to desire, the kind which was a slow burn that he sensed would someday blaze out of control and completely consume him. To this fate he had willingly resigned himself over the past few weeks. Whether he remembered their history or not, he found that he trusted her. And whether he proved as much a man as his former self, she had devoted herself to him whole heartedly and incited in him the same response. Without discussion or promise they had covenanted with each other to grow in this new direction together, and for that he found he loved her most of all. It was as if their thoughts hummed the same tune, and their temperaments balanced each other perfectly.

Though they had not yet been intimate with each other, he knew it was more his choice than hers. He was now aware that at any time she would welcome his advances, and on at least two occasions they had come quite close. But he found he desired a relationship with her that was real and true, one which had no reservations between them from either side. Being here in the home they had restored and furnished together had provided him a glimpse into their former life together, making him long for the day when he could remember it all. As of yet, he still remained in the dark.

She wasn't making it easy for him, however. Though she insisted she could wait, he often caught her eyes upon him, her gaze tempting him to change his mind. They were now in the habit of sharing a touch or a brief kiss, and while enjoying their new habit of walking every evening after dinner they held hand. Before long this transitioned to her arm curling around his waist and his good arm settling comfortably over her shoulders. Good morning and goodnight kisses progressed from a soft peck upon the cheek to tentative lip contact, which combined with ever increasing eye contact led to heated but tentative experimentation. He now found himself less and less content with their easy friendship, tortured by her most fleeting touch which had the power to wreak havoc upon his nerves. They worked and slept at each other's side, and he awoke more and more often with her in his arms, neither of them knowing how they had come to be in that position. He found the tone of her voice incredibly sensual, her dark blue gaze alluring and the fragrance of her hair intoxicating. Looking up from the keys, he stared at the crackling fire and slipped into a dreamlike reverie, thinking of her.

Alberta's laughter pierced the stillness of the room, echoing throughout foyer in annoying mockery. He cringed and closed his eyes, forming simple chords which he pounded in an effort to drown out its sound. The laughter reached inside him, tickling his heart at first and then grasping and twisting it with unexplained violence. His heart began to pound with fear as he banged the keys, overcome with a strange sensation which translated into the strongest urge to play more. The instrument soothed him and begged for his touch, capturing him as he remembered how his mother had positioned her hands in varying patterns of construction. They were not that difficult to mimic, he found as he gave himself over to the music.

_**Alberta clutched William's arm and tugged it until he looked at her, at which point she sighed dramatically.**_ Impatient for his former butler to return with whatever riches the family would part with, she caught sight of Ceara from the corner of her eye and lowered her head to his shoulder. Equally impatient to shock Aaron's little wife, she pulled William's hand against her waist and fluttered her eyelashes at him, pouting saucily into his surprised expression.

"Pitiful, isn't it dear," she said loud enough for Ceara to overhear, "Aaron used to be so _handsome.._."

"I suppose he was," William said, diverting his attention back to the top of the stairs for Bennett's reappearance.

"And he once played with such perfection," she wined, pulling her gaze from Ceara's slight frown to glance toward the parlor. "No longer…"

"Most unfortunate," her husband muttered, nodding to Bennett as he guided her toward the door as if afraid of offending their hosts. He leaned close, gripping her arm. "Now that you've satisfied your curiosity and we've got what we need, behave yourself or I'll—"

"They deserve each other," she ground out, twisting her arm from his grip. "He's got his plain _commoner_ of a wife and even plainer estate, poor boy!" she hissed.

"_Boy_ is right," he sneered meaningfully, "remember the difference in your ages now, and be thankful you've got a real man in your clutches now."

"I don't know what I _ever _saw in him," she sighed, smiling at Ceara's angry expression as Bennett halted at their side and thrust a tiny trunk toward them.

"This is everything," Bennett sighed with bored indifference, moving to open the door for them.

"Safe journey," Ceara bid with cold reserve, her hands gripping her shawl as if to keep from striking out.

"_Au revoir,_ all!" Alberta called back, noting that Florence was nowhere to be seen. "If you're ever in the provinces, come visit us!"

"Thank your husband for us," William ordered, urging Alberta through the door. As he passed the ancient butler he shook his head. "I swear Bennett—you get meaner as you grow older."

"Same to you, _sir_," he huffed back, closing the door behind them and locking it.

_**Biting her lip to keep from crying out an insult, **_Ceara stared at Bennett as he turned and lifted his arms in thanksgiving.

"Hallelujah," he declared, winking at her before he turned and bid her a good night. "Give Master Aaron my condolences," he called back.

"My sentiments exactly," she sighed, turning toward the library. Suddenly the music changed, igniting a former memory of hers as she saw him bent over the keyboard in exactly the same fashion he had long ago. Slowly entering the room she fixed her gaze upon his hands as they shifted expertly over the keys. Reaching back to close the door behind her, she made her way toward him, recognizing the fact that he had somehow returned to himself, and to her.

The passion and emotion of his playing took her breath as powerfully as it had the first time she'd heard him, filling her eyes with tears. _He remembered how to play!_ she wanted to cry out, listening to him transition to a nocturne. He continued playing with his eyes closed, failing to acknowledge her presence though she stood just beyond his reach. His playing took on a violent nature as she watched his brow furrow and his jaw harden. Drops of perspiration began to bead his temples. and she knew that something was terribly wrong. Staring at his hands, she noted that the hesitancy in his left hand had completely vanished. The sound of the music grew fierce, louder and more discordant. She stared in disbelief at the veins bulging in his neck and temples, and finally called his name as she reached out to him.

Suddenly he lifted his hands from the keys as if they were afire, holding them aloft. His breathing was ragged and his shirt clung to his chest. She stared at him in shock, not knowing what to do to help him. He stared straight ahead as if lost in another time and place. When he did not respond to her calling his name she went to his side, laying a hand upon his back. Beneath her touch he shuddered, then with a great sob buried his face in his hands. To her horror his shoulders shook with tremors as he gasped for breath.

_Was it another flashback?_ she worried, telling herself that it had been weeks since the last one. Yet this was much worse, more violent and overwhelming than the others. He moaned in pain, prompting her to fling her arms around his shoulders. When he stiffened she pulled his head to her breast and held him tightly. He resisted at first but she held on. Then choking back a sob he lowered his head to her shoulder, finally gripping her fiercely in his arms as he gasped for breath.

"It's all right," she soothed, smoothing her hand through his hair. Beneath her fingertips she felt the hard ridges of his head wound, and with her other hand she caressed the cruel lines where the shrapnel had torn his shoulder. Praying silently for his deliverance, she tried to battle the evil which gripped him by offering him whatever comfort she might possess. _"I love you!"_

His arms gentled somewhat, and she felt herself being pulled down onto his lap. Bending her head to his, she held him as he wept. Great sobs tore from his chest while he shuddered and shook with emotion. Eventually they lessened in intensity, affording her the opportunity to slowly release him. She took his head between her hands and gently lifted it, softly kissing his forehead and temples as he began to relax. His hands lifted to her upper arms, but he kept his head down, his eyes tightly closed. She longed to assure him that everything would be all right, but words seemed inadequate. Whatever horrible memory had overcome him seemed inevitable, and she must trust that after rising it would eventually fall away, thus freeing him.

Slowly he straightened, one arm dropping wearily to his side as he ran a hand across his forehead with a shudder. Sliding her hands beneath his arms, she waited until he realized that she wanted to help him up from the bench. When he stood she wrapped her arm around his waist and turned him toward the fire. He leaned heavily upon her shoulder until they stood between the sofa and the fireplace, at which point he turned his head and gazed down into her upturned face. He nodded and guided her to sit upon the sofa.

"I know now," he said hoarsely, watching her sit down and hold his arm until he did so. He studied her expression, the intensity in his eyes strangely familiar.

Her breath caught as she recognized the old Aaron. Gripping his hand, she tugged him down. He turned to face her, taking her hands between his.

"I remember everything," he said simply, sighing raggedly with relief.

"Everything?" she gasped, searching his face. "But how, Aaron? What happened?" she whispered.

He glanced away, dropping his chin in resignation and releasing her hand. "It was that laugh," he said bitterly, shaking his head. "I remembered her _laughing_ at me, after she drugged me, and seduced me."

His voice caught on the last two words, and she felt her throat tighten with emotion. She gripped his arm, squeezing the muscled strength she felt beneath his linen shirt. Resting her temple upon his shoulder, she closed her eyes.

_He had remembered his past with Alberta, but did her remember theirs? _Too afraid to ask, she waited to see what else he would say.

"It seemed to have opened a portal to the past," he said in disbelief. "But God help me, I remember it all."

When he seemed to drift off in thought she slid her hand down his arm and grasped his right hand. "And you remembered that you could play," she prompted.

He sighed in the affirmative, slowly leaning back against the sofa. He tilted his head back and stared into the fire. Just when she thought he would share no more he turned to look at her, his expression lit with recognition. Reaching up, he caught a tendril of her hair and stared at it, fingering it as he looked into her eyes.

"I remember the circumstances surrounding the pea soup," he said softly, his features relaxing. She leaned back, her head bending close to his.

"Thank God for pea soup," she breathed, smiling at her husband as she wondered how he had suddenly materialized right before her eyes.

"I remember waking with you leaning over me, binding my wound in the forest; I wasn't sure if you were a devil or an angel."

"You laughed at me when I got angry," she said, staring at him in wonder; "...no one ever did that before."

Another shudder overtook him, but he leaned forward, lifting his arm until she slid beneath it. They settled comfortably against each other, his fingers toying with her hair while she placed her palm over his stomach, noting his shiver of response.

"What else do you remember?" she asked softly, keeping her hand where it was.

He swallowed thickly. "I remember signing our marriage license in the field," he stated, glancing down at her. "And the way you kissed me in that tunnel."

She reached up to touch the slight cleft in his chin. "I'm very happy to have you back," she whispered, looking into his eyes.

His gaze lowered to her lips, and then she felt his arms slip beneath her back as he guided her toward the cushions. She gripped his upper arms as he traced her lips with the tip of his finger. "I remember you waking me with scones," he whispered, his lips close to hers, "when we were guests of the Oneida."

"Our first time," she whispered back, slowly curling her arms around his shoulders.

He closed his eyes and bent to touch his lips to hers, breathing his gratitude against them. She tightened her grip on him and he slipped a hand beneath her head, cradling it in his palm as he kissed her slowly, relishing each soft press. They shared lazy kisses with sweet recognition, welcoming each other to the past.

"I love you," he whispered in her ear before guiding her to a sitting position. Studying her expression, he took her hand and slowly got up.

They climbed the stairs, her arm around his waist, his settled over her shoulders. He led them to the nursery, gently pushing open the door and pausing at the side of Noah's crib to watch him sleep. Aaron reached out to gently stroke the baby soft cheek, then he bent to kiss his son's soft hair. Her eyes filled with tears, for though he had done the same things many times before, this time was different.

"Hello, son," he whispered, gently touching his bundled up shoulder. "I remember the night I was given your name."

Ceara slid her arm around his waist, pressing close to him as he continued.

"In the morning we can become better acquainted," he promised, straightening and turning with her to the door adjoining their rooms. He left Noah's door slightly ajar in case he needed them this night, meeting her gaze as they entered their room.

"You've been a wonderful father to him all this time," she reminded him, stepping closer to wrap her arms around him.

He tilted her chin up to better look into her eyes. "I was still a stranger then," he admitted softly, glancing back toward the nursery. "Now I've been given the gift of remembering it all."

She nodded as he gently combed his hands through her hair, his eyes traveling appreciatively over her features. "And now, if you'll permit me, I think it's time you and I are reacquainted."

She slipped her fingertips into his shirt and smiled. "I would be happy to, sir," she breathed, rising to her toes to kiss his lips. "And I'm very glad I fed him just before coming downstairs."

He glanced back toward Noah's room. "Then he should sleep soundly, at least for a few hours."

She took his hand and led him toward the window seat, turning to face him as she reached up to unfasten her collar. "We have the night all to ourselves," she hinted.

He moved closer, winding his arms around her as he kissed her. She sighed languidly, gripping his shoulders as he lifted her up onto the cushions. She tilted her head to one side as he pushed away the fabric of her dress and planted a kiss at the juncture of her neck and shoulder.

"I've waited so long for you," she breathed, wrapping herself around him as much as she could.

He kissed the tender spot he must have remembered made her tremble with pleasure. "Are you certain?" he breathed into her ear.

She shuddered and pulled his mouth to hers, grasping his head as they kissed more earnestly. Finally breaking away, she smoothed her hands up his chest.

"Very certain," she whispered back. "I've dreamt of this day for months."

"As have I," he smiled, grazing his lips gently over hers "…and this night."

_c. 2008 by Christine Levitt_


	29. Epilogue

_**E P I L O G U E**_

_**December 4, 1781: Fraunces Tavern, New York City**_

_**Her breath caught as she recognized him across the room, standing with his back to her. **_Raising a hand to her heart, she felt it pound with anticipation as another officer leaned close to him to say something meant for their hearing alone. As she watched Aaron nodded, turning his head in profile to reply. The man shook his hand and turned away, drifting off into the crowd and leaving him standing alone in the corner of the room. Gathering up her skirts, she began to make her way through the crowd toward him, her eyes traveling across the familiar breadth of his shoulders and down over the dark dress uniform he wore.

Forced to step between two officers, she excused herself while watching him lift his hand to place the fluted glass upon the mantle. Then he stepped away, slowly making his way in the opposite direction. Wanting to cry out in protest she quickened her pace until she was out in the corridor, away from the press of the crowd. Spotting him at the threshold of the library, he looked about to enter it when suddenly he paused, his stance on full alert. Continuing toward him, she watched as he slowly turned in her direction.

Caught in his gaze, she stopped within six paces of him and dropped her hem, absently reaching up to grasp the silken fabric sliding off her bare shoulder. Noting how his eyes followed the gesture, she lifted her chin and completed the distance between them. Looking up into the silver light of his gaze, she decided he had never looked so handsome. The weeks spanning his leaving for business and this moment faded away, now that she had been allowed to see him. At her silent gaze one of his brows lifted with masculine interest as he waited. His lips curled toward a smile, halting just before completing one.

"You look remarkably beautiful tonight, Madame," he said softly, his gloved hands reaching for her waist, drawing her closer. She watched his gaze slip lower, feeling the tender skin at the daring décolletage of her gown burn with the heat of his appraisal. Then she knew that the dressmaker was correct, it was in fashion but not overly revealing—just enough to attract a man's interest.

"And you, Lieutenant, look most debonair," she sighed, resting her hands upon his forearms, keenly aware of the stir they were causing. She could feel the weight of many eyes upon them, but lifted her chin. "It is a pleasure to see you again, sir."

He glanced toward the crowded anteroom and guided her into the library, though she huffed in an effort to snub propriety. Apparently their reunion in public was inappropriate for such an august occasion, yet it was the Army's fault they were so desperate for each other's company. Aaron had been called here to help General Washington settle his affairs, and to be secretly compensated for his intelligence efforts through a third party. Yet all this she put from her mind as she felt her back bump against the wall while he reached past her to shut the door. They were plunged into near darkness save for the bright moonlight spilling into the room. Quickly distracting her, he thrust his arms behind her and pressed himself against her length, kissing her in desperation while she gasped with welcoming delight. Raising her hands to his head, she held him in place for her own kisses, loving the soft groan he emitted before touching his forehead to hers, his breath panting against her lips.

"I've missed you so," he breathed, his mouth descended upon hers once again. She gripped him tighter, though beyond the door they heard footsteps approach and pass. Loud conversations erupted suddenly, and he closed his eyes, planting a hand upon the wall behind her head.

"I need you, Aaron," she whispered, framing his jaw with her hand.

He gazed down at her, clearly frustrated as he shook his head. "It's much too risky," he replied, capturing her lips in a hungry kiss which she felt all the way to her toes.

"I don't care," she sighed, sliding her hands dangerously low over his spine as he choked back a laugh. He pulled her closer, causing her to look heavenward for mercy.

"You little temptress," he whispered, "how do you expect me to go in there now and listen to the General's farewell address?"

"He hasn't started yet," she complained, kissing him in an effort to distract him. "By the way, he should be ashamed of himself, keeping us apart."

"I was commissioned to settle the Army's affairs," he stated as if trying to convince himself. "Orders cannot be ignored, luv," he whispered, easing her away from the wall and placing a hand upon the doorknob. "We must go—"

"I've reserved that hotel room for us," she interrupted, tracing the muscles of his chest through his uniform. "The same one you wouldn't visit when we were last here."

"God help me," he sighed, pulling her head beneath his chin, "you've been making plans again."

"If that is the only way to have you to myself, so be it," she declared in a whisper.

He chuckled and reached for the knob, leaning to open it a crack and gaze out into the corridor. "I can hardly wait," he answered, already distracted.

She sighed with resignation and followed him down the hall toward the long room. They could hear introductions being made and entered, searching for two seats together. It appeared there were none, so she pulled her hand from his. "I'll wait here," she offered, nodding for him to go claim one of the single spots.

He caught her hand and tugged her toward the side. "You will do no such thing—I want you by my side."

"Aaron, no!" she whispered, knowing that only a few of the wives of the higher ranking officers had been invited. "I couldn't take someone else's seat."

"I'm afraid you've lost this battle, luv," he smiled, nodding to one of his compatriots. "I insist."

She apologized to the people over whose legs they stepped in order to reach the only two seats vacant in the room, right up front. Deciding that she liked his possessive grip she smiled and slid into the chair next to his. He kept her hand, resting it upon his thigh though she noted a few disapproving glances. As the speaker continued to introduce General Washington, she covertly pressed her thigh against his beneath the voluminous wave of her gown, pretending to listen along with everyone else.

Eventually the excitement and anticipation of the evening captured their attention, and she found herself holding her breath as General Washington stepped up to the lectern for his address to his officers. Admiring Aaron's stern profile, she prayed a prayer of thanksgiving for her husband, comparing the long journey to victory with their own. He turned to meet her gaze and in that moment they knew their future would be brighter with promise. When his gaze dropped to the place where her hand curved protectively toward her waist, she waited until he looked back into her eyes. In them there was a twinkle of amusement, and another promise: that this time he would let nothing prevent him attending the birth of their second child, whom had yet to be named.

She sighed happily as he directed his gaze forward once again, her thoughts going to Noah and Florence back home, enjoying some special time together under the watchful eye of their staff. Then there was her brother Jamie, living in the restored carriage house on their parents' property, engaged only recently to one of the young women in the local congregation. She and Aaron would be traveling there for the spring wedding, and to introduce Noah to him. There they would spend some time with Betsy, Faith and Paulie, as well as their father who had become Betsy's new husband. Cecily and Caleb would be there, living a much more humble existence in lieu of Caleb's tar and feathering, which served to humble him enough to cast off his aristocratic ways and swear allegiance to the new union. Everyone knew, after all, that his first interests were his family and his business associates who had kept him as their attorney, providing them a way to remain while all the other Loyalists fled to Nova Scotia and the other provinces to the north.

There was a slight stir but Mr. Washington continued on, so only a few heads turned to catch Captain Burke sneaking in late, his usual custom. He raised a discrete salute to Aaron, who nodded in return while she covered a smile and shook her head. Dear old Captain Burke; he still had not retired as of their last communication.

Feeling Aaron squeeze her hand, she looked up and met his warm gaze, leaning closer into his arm as she joined him in giving back their full attention to the evening's formalities. As she struggled to follow the General's train of thought, the vision of Aaron regaining his memory at Alberta and William Crote's prompting was quickly replaced with a picture of the two huddling around a woodstove in the colder climate which was blissfully far away to the north.

The speech ended and there was a stir, though the announcement was made that awards were soon to be forthcoming. Aaron leaned closer and she felt the soft touch of his kiss upon her cheek. Squeezing his hand but not daring to look at him, she knew that if she did she would be forced to throw her arms around him and return the kiss, right there in public. That would surely get them both in trouble, she thought with a mischievous smile.

His arm pressed against her as he leaned close, his eyes focused ahead. "Steady, luv," he whispered at her ear. "We'll have plenty of time to properly welcome each other…"

She closed her eyes as a little thrill ran down her neck and skittered across her shoulders. Their times together may be short and interrupted by long separations, yet somehow their love had grown stronger. She lifted her eyes to study his profile, threading her fingers through his as he rewarded her with the warm possessiveness of hand squeezing hers. Gone were the days when she was labeled a spinster, as were adventures disguised as a boy in order to make her way in the world. Still, when he turned to look into her eyes, she knew that if given the chance she would dress and play whatever role was necessary to follow this man, wherever he might take her.

_c. 2008 by Christine Levitt_

_**NOTE: **__I hope you have enjoyed this story, set in the tumultuous time of the Revolutionary War but focused mainly upon the love story of the main characters. It was true that General George Washington instituted and utilized complex networks of intelligence, using spies and counter spies to collect and disseminate information that proved vital to the final victory. We must also thank the Jewish immigrants who not only fought in the war but also provided a great deal of financial support to the struggling Continental army, many of whom were never thanked or rewarded. The Oneida nation was key in supporting the patriot cause, paying a terrible price by breaking with many other Six Nations peoples; they were however tragically rewarded with smallpox-infested blankets supposedly meant to keep them warm in the winter after their displacement from their lands due to fighting. This is also their story._

_Please join me for my next story called "The Ransom," set in Medieval times against the backdrop of the struggle between Cymri (Welsh) and Anglo-Saxon peoples._


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